


For Better Or For Worse

by capn_hoozits



Series: Sons of the Desert [6]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-05-22 11:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6077211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capn_hoozits/pseuds/capn_hoozits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Resembool hasn't seen a throwdown like this since the sheep shearing festival of 1905. This time a brave few may even stay sober enough to remember what happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"We're going so fast!" Danika breathed as she continued to gaze out the window.

The train had picked up speed after leaving Ishval, and its passengers, a few Amestrians and the rest Ishvalans, were getting settled in their seats.

With Mattas in his lap, Scar looked over Danika's shoulder as the scenery rolled past. It felt strange to be leaving Ishval again. To anyone else, it would appear to be an ordinary train trip. Dejan's family of musicians chatted and joked with each other. Dr. Marcoh was perusing the latest edition of The Amestrian Journal of Medicine. Dejan was laughing at some story Havoc was telling him. But nothing this well-meaning but somewhat unruly extended family did was ever ordinary. Or quiet.

It had been a trying morning. Scar was not used to the concept of "luggage." As a child, he never left Ishval. As a priest, he had few possessions. As an instrument of vengeance, he lived rough and traveled light. Now that he had become a "normal" person, he was taken by surprise at how much luggage a family of five could produce. Aside from their clothes and the children's assorted paraphernalia, Rada had packed a basket full of food and another full of linens that she had embroidered as gifts for the newlyweds. Rada was also a month and a half pregnant and, although delighted, was feeling rather unwell and out of sorts, so Scar's question as to whether they really needed to take all this stuff was a bit ill-timed. She just gave him a look, all the answer he was likely to get. As a result, he felt it wise to say no more about it and dutifully carry everything. He even hired one of the rickshaw pullers to take Rada and the children to the closest access road where Havoc waited with his truck.

"Wow," Havoc observed as he helped load everything into the back of the truck. "I thought Eyla overpacked. Are you sure you really need all this stuff?"

Scar gave him a dark, weary look. "Yes," he replied tersely.

Then there were the children. Danika, thank Ishvala, was good as gold. Despite her excitement at this adventure, she could tell that both her parents were feeling a little stressed, so she made a point of being particularly helpful and cooperative. The twins were another matter entirely. They were becoming increasingly more mobile and, left to their own devices for barely a second, were off in a dozen different directions at once. Scar could hardly believe that he had once looked forward to when they could walk. He envied Miles, whose son Attar was a placid one-month-old infant and didn't squirm out of his swaddling at every available opportunity.

Scar looked down at Mattas. The little boy had fallen asleep with the rocking of the train. Danika had tired of gazing out the window and curled up at his side, opening up a book she had fished out of her bag. Across the aisle, Dr. Marcoh's chin had dropped to his chest. Scar finally allowed himself to relax. Having finally gotten this far, he felt as though a great hurdle had been cleared. Now he had their arrival in Resembool to face. It was not a big place, but there were still plenty of people there. He couldn't help but worry about how the locals would react to a train car of Ishvalans emptying out onto their station platform or whether his family would be harassed. Then, of course, there was—

Scar shook his head. His master would have told him to stop worrying about things that might or might not happen, or worse, conjuring up improbabilities. _Don't try to second guess God, my son. If He decides to place an obstacle in your path, rest assured it's for your own good._

He looked to the seat opposite and saw that Little Winry was asleep as well in her mother's arms. He raised his eyes from his daughter's tranquil face to his wife's, and she smiled at him ruefully, but with warm affection.

"I'm sorry I was so short tempered this morning," she said softly. "You took it so well."

Her smile would always be intoxicating, and for a few moments, at least, Scar's worries faded into insignificance. "If that's your idea of being short tempered, I'll take it any day."

Rada gave a little laugh. "That's so sweet, but honestly, you deserve better treatment."

"My dearest love, you've treated me to much, much better than that," Scar told her with an emphasis that he hoped Danika didn't quite understand. "I have—"

" _Ughh!_ " Naisha stormed past them toward the toilet. "I have to pee _again_! _And_ I think I'm gonna puke!" She glared over her shoulder at Dejan, who sat with his feet comfortably propped up. " _You_ did this to me!"

"I love you too, mother of my children," Dejan called back sweetly, then snickered to himself.

Scar turned back to Rada. "I have nothing to complain about."

Rada's smile grew enough to make her nose crinkle a little. At that moment Scar would gladly have let her beat him with a two-by-four.

It was nearly noon by the time the train pulled into Resembool. Since this was mainly a freight train, there were several trucks and even a couple of horse-drawn wagons waiting, as well as a number of people. Scar eyed them warily but distractedly. He already had enough to contend with since the twins woke up. He then noticed one familiar golden-headed figure.

Danika pressed her nose against the window. "There's Edward!" she said excitedly.

The train had slowed to a stop, and Rada turned to look out. "How nice of him to meet us!" She frowned slightly. "What is that he's wearing?"

Scar took a closer look. Ed had on a somewhat shapeless, lumpy, off-white sweater that reached about mid-thigh. He held his arms tightly crossed in front of his chest as he peered at the train windows from the platform.

"Oh, Winry must have made that for him," Rada said. "She bought all that wool before she left Ishval. She said she was going to teach herself how to knit." She smiled. "And he wore it to please her! That's so sweet!"

"He looks cold," Danika remarked.

"He looks embarrassed," Scar said.

"Shh!" Rada warned him. "Don't say anything!"

Scar shook his head. "I can only feel respect for someone who has the courage and devotion to appear in public like that."

Getting off the train was going to be as much an enterprise as getting on it, just in reverse order. The twins were already getting fractious. It wouldn't be long before they were both wailing to be set on their feet so they could run rampant. Scar glanced up at their several bags on the luggage rack, trying to keep a tight hold on Mattas, who was squirming. Desperate times being what they were, he was forced to do something of which he was not fond. He had to delegate.

Being closest to the door, Miles had already gotten his suitcases out onto the platform and had returned to collect Vesya. "Miles!" Scar called out to him.

The Ishvalan officer turned to look back. "Yeah?"

"Can you take Mattas for me?" Scar asked.

Vesya was carrying her son, so Miles held out his arms. "Sure. Toss him up here."

Scar grimaced. "No." He looked down at the closest person to him as they crowded into the aisle. "Zita, pass him up, please."

"Sure." The young woman, one of Dejan's singers, took Mattas from his father and passed him up to another girl. "There you go!"

The toddler giggled as he bobbed from hand to hand, finally reaching Miles. "Okay, you little monkey," Miles told him. "You're with me."

Miles managed to get out the door and onto the platform before Scar could call out to warn him to not put the little boy down. He could only hope that Miles' military instincts would suffice. Danika shouldered her duffel bag and Scar stepped back as far as he could to let her get past him. He then waited for Rada to move into the aisle, Little Winry balanced on her hip, before he reached up to the luggage rack for their larger bags.

By the time he got to the door and started to step down, Miles was standing on the platform, helping Danika down the steps. He then turned to Rada, who was the first to notice that something was wrong.

"Miles, where's Mattas?" she demanded sharply.

With a frown, Miles looked down, quickly scanning the area around his boots, where Mattas was conspicuous by his absence. "Damn it! I told him to stay right next to me!"

"Miles!" Rada cried in exasperation, clutching Little Winry tightly and hopping down the last step from the train. She nearly spun around, searching the platform frantically. "He's only fifteen months old! He doesn't follow directions!"

Somewhat chagrined, Miles scanned the area as well. "He can't have gone far."

Scar quickly slipped past Rada, dumping their luggage unceremoniously onto the platform. "Yes, he can!" He strode away from the train, carefully searching the area. He caught a glimpse of a small figure running into the station house and he sprinted off in pursuit. He nearly knocked over a couple of locals stepping out of the door as he burst into the building. Mattas was already at the far end, nearing a wide open door that led to another set of tracks. The toddler saw his father coming and tried to dart away, but Scar quickly closed the distance between them, scooping the little boy into his arms. Mattas let out a deafening shriek, a mixture of protest and delight, or at least that was how Scar recognized it. To anyone who didn't know young Mattas, and there were quite a number of people in the station house who belonged to that category, they would think he was terrified. After the first wave of relief passed, Scar found himself surrounded by a crowd of Amestrians who were staring at him in astonishment. A bespectacled woman in a railway uniform stood nearby, gripping the handle of a broom as though it were a weapon. All around him he began to hear whispers of _it's him!_ and _it's Scar!_

Scar drew himself up to his full height, returning the stares of the local citizenry with a grave, menacing scowl. He gathered Mattas close to him. "This," he informed the assembly in a dark, frigid tone, "is my son."

Mattas, Ishvala bless him, giggled and wrapped his small arms around his father's neck, conceding that he had been caught fair and square. Scar did not feel that he needed to offer any further explanation, and he turned abruptly and strode toward the door. As he reached it, something caught his eye. Pinned onto a notice board right next to the exit was his wanted poster, still in pristine condition. Next to it was a picture of Yoki. Talk about adding insult to injury. He ripped the poster from the wall and stormed out of the building. He left Yoki's.

Scar returned to his family, giving Miles a dark look, to which the Ishvalan colonel raised his hands in a helpless gesture. "Sorry about that!"

"Take it as a lesson learned, Miles," Scar told him sternly. "Never drop your guard!"

Miles gave a nod. "Understood."

"Seriously, Miles. Not ever."

"I get it!"

"Mattas, you naughty boy!" Rada chided her son affectionately.

Mattas just waved his arms toward his mother, apparently not giving a single crap. Scar held him securely. "You're not going anywhere!" he growled.

"I'm not sure I've ever seen you move that fast," Ed remarked as he stepped up to them, his arms still trying to camouflage his sweater but also displaying the fact that one sleeve was considerably longer that the other. "Welcome to Resembool!"

Scar thrust the wanted poster in Ed's face. "Some welcome! So much for your country's so-called gratitude!"

Ed jerked his head back to focus on the paper. "Oh…well…uh…"

Rada stared at the poster and gasped. "Oh! Oh, I don't believe this!"

"Ex _cuse_ me!"

Scar turned to see the uniformed woman striding up to him, still armed with her broom. She jabbed a finger at the poster he still had in his hand. " _That_ is railway property!" she announced sternly. "It is strictly against regulations to deface, destroy, or remove railway property from railway premises without an official directive from railway management!"

Before Scar could reply, Rada stepped past him to angrily confront the woman, waving her hand at the poster. "Why do you still have this? This is the provincial governor of Ishval! The Amestrian government decorated him as a hero! I know Resembool is a small town, but didn't you hear about that?"

The woman drew herself up. "Of course I heard about it! I know exactly who you are! Resembool may be a small town, but we're not a bunch of ignorant hicks! We stay just as current with the news as any big city! But rules are rules!"

She held her hand out, but Scar pulled the poster possessively closer. The woman let out a deep sigh, her shoulders drooping. "Listen. I'm awfully sorry! It's nothing personal. Not at all. As a matter of fact, it's an honor to have you visit our little community." She looked from Rada to Scar pleadingly. "It's just that I'm due to retire next year, and if I have a spotless record, I'll get a bonus on my pension. I've always passed even the most sudden surprise inspections with excellent marks. If I don't have all my proper signage and notices on display, I'll get dinged. I promise that as soon as I get official notification—which, I'm afraid," she added with a rueful shrug, "sometimes is a little slow in coming—to remove the posters, I'll take it down and throw it away." She held out her hand again. "I _promise_!"

Scar considered her for a moment, then looked at the poster in his hand. With some reluctance handed it back to her. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, Amestrian bureaucracy being what it is."

The woman rolled her eyes. "Like you wouldn't believe! But, it's my bread and butter." She considered the torn corners of the poster and sighed. "I suppose I can tape it back together." She looked back up with a determined expression. "Thank you for understanding, Mr. Governor." She then ventured a little smile. "And may I say you have a lovely family! But," she added, holding up a finger, "regulations state that small children must be supervised at all times while on railway property. Just so you know."

"I'll remember that," Scar replied dryly as Mattas tried to climb over his shoulder.

The woman marched back to her station house and Ed smirked at Scar. "Feeling a little foolish right now?"

Scar gave him a narrow look, making a point of running his eyes up and down Ed's sweater. "You're asking me that?"

Ed scowled and opened his mouth, but Rada stepped in. "Well, I think your sweater is lovely!"

Ed looked down at himself and gave a weary, resigned sigh. "That's nice of you to say that, but you know that's not true. It's horrible. But now that you've seen it, can I take it off? I'll just tell Winry I got too warm."

Rada shook her head. "She won't believe you and you'll hurt her feelings. She must have worked very hard on it."

"Well, yeah, she did, but…" Ed made a grimace. "You should see the wedding dress she's been working on."

"Oh, really?" Rada asked cautiously.

"Yeah…um…it's…"

"Hey, Fullmetal! What poor deformed critter did you skin for that getup?" Havoc cried from across the platform.

"Okay, that's it!" Ed reached down to pull up the bottom edge of the sweater and struggled out of it. "I've already gotten enough crap from Mustang."

"He's here already?" Scar asked.

The neck opening of the sweater was a little snug, and it took Ed a moment to pop his head out, but when he did, he nodded. "They got here about an hour ago. Him, the former lieutenant, and their baby, not to mention the major general. And her husband," he added incredulously. "I never met the guy before in my life, but the minute he stepped in the house, he acted like he's known me for years! I'm starting to believe him."

Rada laughed. "That's Shua, all right. It was so kind of Winry's grandmother to offer her hospitality like this. I'm looking forward to meeting her."

"And she's looking forward to meeting you," Ed returned, glancing at Scar, who only frowned slightly.

Wadding up the sweater and tucking it under his arm, Ed surveyed the crowd of passengers assembled on the platform. "Wow," he remarked. "Looks like half of Ishval showed up."

"Hardly," Scar replied. "Just my family."

Ed gave a snort of a laugh. "Same thing."

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Major General Armstrong stood on the top step of the front porch of the Rockbell house, gazing down the road. She was out of uniform, dressed in black wool pants and a grey sweater that looked rather better on her than Ed's did on him. She leaned on the railing, her fingers drumming lightly against the wood. It was nice and quiet out here. Not the majestic silence that settled on the snow over Briggs, but the rustling of the crisp wind of a southern winter over the pale grass was pleasant.

The front door opened behind her and she heard a familiar step on the wood of the porch. She didn't look over her shoulder, but she smiled.

A pair of tawny brown arms encircled her waist and tightened around her. "There's my little snow bunny!" Shua purred near her ear.

Olivier's smile grew as she leaned back against him. It was still something of a mystery to her. Or perhaps it wasn't a mystery at all. He was so unlike any man she had ever met. She had failed to intimidate him, which made him both infuriating and fascinating. But once she got past the swagger and the popinjay façade, she found a warm, loyal, loving man with whom she didn't have to be the ice queen.

"Can't wait for the family reunion to come to you?" Shua asked her.

Olivier gave a snort. "It'll be a step up from the last one."

Shua gave a mischievous chuckle. "Oh, admit it, _laleh_. You had fun."

"I'm not sure I'd categorize it as fun," Olivier replied dryly, patting his forearm. "And it was your idea to go, not mine. I wouldn't have gone otherwise. I have to admit, though, it was fun shocking my horrible cousins."

"Well, there you are, then."

"Actually," Olivier went on, "I came out for some fresh air. I was beginning to gag on the stink of baby powder."

"I think she's a sweet little mite," Shua replied. "The spit of her father."

"If you mean small, whiney, and bad-tempered when she gets damp, then you're right. She's just like Mustang." Olivier looked off down the road again. "Makes me appreciate Mika that much more. She's smart, talented, well-behaved, and house trained."

"Oh, to be sure, Mika's a treasure! But there's another grandchild on the way, so you'd better get used to babies, Ollie," Shua told her with a chuckle. He gave a contented sigh, resting his chin on the top of Olivier's head, holding her close. "What more could a man ask for?"

Over the whispering of the breeze over the grass, there came a faint but clear sound of the chanter of a bagpipe. A few moments later, voices could be heard joining it.

"That's them," Olivier remarked. "Remind me to not recommend them for stealth operations."

The two carts appeared around a stand of trees and headed up the long dirt road that led to the house. Several of the riders waved and some of them let out a high-pitched ululating howl, which Shua answered back.

Olivier winced. "Not in my ear!"

The clopping of the horses' broad hooves slowed as the carts finally drew up to the front of the house. Danika stood leaning against the railing of the cart and gazed wide-eyed at the house.

"This is where you live, _Zhaarad_ Edward?" she breathed.

"Well, I've been travelling a lot lately, but yeah, this is my home base," Ed replied.

"It's _huge_!" Danika spread her arms wide.

Ed chuckled a little. "It's pretty roomy," he said. "Not quite big enough to hold everybody, though." He looked over at Dejan apologetically as he got down from the other wagon. "You're all welcome up at the house, and we'll take you into town later on. I hope you don't mind."

Dejan waved a hand. "Not at all, not at all! I love staying in hotels! There was this one place we stayed at when we were on tour. They left these little mints on the pillows—"

"Dejan, stop yakking and help me down," Naisha said wearily. "Unless you want me to jump."

Dejan quickly held up his arms. "Don't you dare!" He carefully lifted Naisha from the wagon and set her on her feet. Then he turned back to Ed with a grin. "Anyway, I know you had to accommodate the quality first."

Naisha gave him a sharp poke with her fingernail. "You're just as much quality as anyone else!" she chided.

"Thanks, sweetheart." Dejan rubbed his shoulder. "Let's just say I'm outranked." He turned and flung his arms out as Shua came down the steps. "Dad!"

Shua pre-empted his son's embrace by grabbing him in a one-arm headlock and kissing the top of his head. Shoving him aside, he held his hands out to Naisha. "Nai, honey, don't you look radiant!"

"I feel fat," Naisha pouted, clasping his hands.

"Same thing, love." Shua kissed her on both cheeks. "You always were too skinny."

" _Djaari!_ " Mika cried as she jumped down from the wagon and threw her arms around Shua. She looked up at him wistfully. "How is Stoyan? Did he get all my letters? He hasn't written back much."

"That's because he's busy as a dozen bees, sweetheart," Shua said. "He's up to his elbows in entrance exams for college." He tilted Mika's chin up. "But don't worry. He reads every one of your letters, so don't stop writing. He'll write back when he can. He did ask me to give you this." Shua bent down and kissed Mika on the cheek. "I know it's not the same coming from your granddad, but you get the idea."

Mika giggled and hugged her grandfather tightly. "Thanks, _djaari_!"

"If you're here, Dad, who's keeping an eye on Stoyan?" Dejan arched an eyebrow. "If you know what I mean."

"Don't fret about that, son," Shua replied with a wink. "My neighbor Gracia promised to keep him out of trouble. She and little Elycia are the only female company he's been keeping."

" _Baata_ Ollie!" Mika broke away from Shua and ran to hug Olivier.

Olivier put her arms around the girl, one of the very, very select few she allowed to use any diminutive form of her name. Somewhat to her surprise, she had grown genuinely fond of her Ishvalan family, probably because they were so different from the Armstrongs. Either that or she just had a thing about Ishvalans. But she was especially fond of Mika. They were both firstborn daughters, they were both carrying on their families' traditions, and Mika was soon to be the older sibling of a possibly annoying younger brother. Mika was also the only living person who was allowed to refer to her as _baata_ , and that was after some coaxing on Shua's part.

"Hello, General!" Dejan greeted her cheerfully. "How's my wicked stepmother?"

Olivier allowed him to kiss her on the cheek, her blue eyes narrowing to give her stepson a warning but mostly warm look. "Don't push your luck, sunshine."

Dejan gave her a grin reminiscent of his father, something he knew would get to her. "Wouldn't dream of it!"

Naisha spread her arms out limply. "Olivier, dearest!" she whined in a parody of Amestrian society ladies. "How are you? Haven't seen you in ages!"

Olivier maintained a dignified look as she and Naisha went through a pantomime of kissing the air next to each other's cheeks. Then they both chuckled.

"Well, you don't look fat, but I don't know where this 'radiant' business comes from," Olivier said.

Naisha shook her head. "Me either. I feel pukey and I could murder a jar of pickles right now."

"I brought some, Nai," Rada called as Scar helped her down from the cart. "I'll get them out as soon as we get inside."

Miles and Vesya stepped up to Olivier. The colonel saluted. "General!"

Olivier turned to her former subordinate. He wasn't wearing his dark glasses and she was glad to be able to see the warm look in his eyes. She returned the salute. "Colonel! It's good to see you again!" She turned to his wife, a woman she once held in contempt but had grown to respect, Vesya having demonstrated that kindness could be a strength. The two women exchanged a smile and Olivier nodded toward the bundle in Vesya's arms. She really wasn't that interested in babies, but in this case she would make an exception.

"So this is Miles Junior?"

Vesya beamed proudly as she pushed the edges of the blanket away from Attar's face. "Yes, it is! Would you like to hold him?"

Normally, Olivier would recoil at such a suggestion. But this was Miles' baby, after all. She took a closer look at him. Attar gazed back at her with solemn ruby-colored eyes. Well, at least he didn't reek of talcum powder.

"I…uh…haven't had much practice," Olivier remarked, giving them fair warning.

"Just pretend he's a mortar shell," Miles suggested.

Vesya gave a little roll of her eyes. "Just keep his head supported in the crook of your elbow."

She carefully transferred Attar into Olivier's arms, and the major general stood awkwardly rigid at first. Then, as she realized that she wasn't going to drop him and he wasn't going to explode, she relaxed. Attar stared at her, fascinated.

"Well now, young man," Olivier asked with mock sternness. "Are you going to grow up to be a silver hawk of Ishval or a Briggs bear?"

Attar stirred and gave a little squeal, waving a tiny fist. Olivier looked at his parents.

"I don't speak baby. Was that a yes or no?"

"I think that was a 'wait and see,'" Vesya said with a smile as Olivier handed Attar back.

A small figure appeared at the top of the steps. "Well, what are you all dawdling around out here for?" Pinako demanded. She waved at the group. "Come on inside! There's coffee and apple pie waiting!"

"Ooh!" Naisha hurried toward the steps. "Apple pie and pickles!"

"Sweet Ishvala!" Dejan groaned in disgust as he followed her.

Pinako stepped aside and surveyed the procession that went past her. She seemed neither surprised nor put out by the number of people pouring into her house. She just puffed on her slender little pipe, making a mental head count. Then she turned and looked down at Scar, who was hesitating near the bottom step, letting the others go ahead of him. He raised his eyes and met Pinako's and she considered him for a moment with only a small tilt to her eyebrow. Then she jerked her head toward the house.

"Come along, then!"

Scar let out a barely audible sigh, then he felt a firm shove in the middle of his back.

"You're not afraid of a tiny old woman, are you?" Ed jeered under his breath. "Go on inside!"

Scar glared narrowly at him and fought an impulse to trip him as he bounded past. That would be childish, for one thing. It also wouldn't endear him to the tiny old woman who had just gone inside the house. Scar went up the steps toward the open door, ready to face the inevitable. God's judgment came in many forms and sizes.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Scar stepped through the door, the front sitting room was already bustling with activity. Pinako was supervising several of the young musicians as they scurried back and forth from the dining room, passing around plates of apple pie and cups of coffee. Mika and Danika were riding herd on the toddlers, apparently with the taciturn assistance of a black and white dog with an automail leg with whom the toddlers were sharing a mutual fascination. Pinako seemed to be taking all of this quite calmly in her stride. She acknowledged Scar's entrance with a glance before she turned back to directing traffic.

"Thanks, kids!" she announced to the young Ishvalans. "Don't forget to help yourselves. There's plenty!"

While Scar stood considering whether to approach Pinako or wait for her to approach him, Rada grabbed him by the arm.

"Andakar, come and see! Roy and Riza's little girl is _darling!_ "

She pulled him over to the crowd around one of the sofas, where both sets of new parents were. Vesya and Riza sat beside each other, each holding their infants. Attar's brown skin and white hair contrasted starkly from little Miss Mustang. She was ivory-skinned and a tiny lock of raven black hair peeked out from under her lacy bonnet. Attar was wrapped in a simple hand woven, hand embroidered blanket, while the little girl was all in fluffy pink flannel decorated with ribbons.

"Her name's Christina," Rada informed Scar. "Isn't she lovely?"

Scar leaned over a little to get a closer look. She was a very pretty baby. "May I hold her?"

Riza looked up at him and he was visited by a recollection of how this woman once shot him in the leg without so much as batting an eye. She had that same look of surety as she held up her baby girl. "She might fuss a little, just so you know," was the only warning she gave.

"She's not fussy," Roy corrected her. "She's just particular."

Riza scoffed quietly. "Same thing." To Scar she added, "She's definitely going to be a daddy's girl."

Scar gathered the small pink bundle into his arms. Christina stirred slightly and gave a little whimper, getting used to a different, broader set of arms. Finding the new resting place to her liking, she settled into it and perused the face above her with dark eyes.

Riza sat back against the sofa cushions. "You'll be pleased to know she doesn't do that for everybody."

"Then I'm honored," Scar replied easily. He looked back at Roy and Riza. The new parents appeared justifiably proud, if sleep deprived. "It gets easier," he told them.

Riza let out a weary breath. "I hope that's true!" she said in a heartfelt voice. She looked around at the faces surrounding them, turning finally to Vesya. "It must be wonderful to have family close. I wish we had that kind of network. We've pretty much been on our own."

Roy nodded. "Madame Christmas lives in Central now, and she came by for a week after Christina was born, but she's busy with her new career. And her girls have all gone off every which way." He laid his hand on Riza's shoulder and she covered it with his. "We're starting to feel a little isolated."

"Then you should come to Ishval for a while and get some rest!" Vesya exclaimed.

"I just might take you up on that," Riza said.

"How well does she sleep at night?" Rada asked.

Riza gave a little shrug. "She wakes up every three hours or so."

"Andakar is quite right. It really does get better," Dr. Marcoh said as he came up to admire the baby girl. He stood by Scar and peered around the edge of the blanket. "Oh, my, what a pretty little miss!"

"It's the couple of hours before she finally gets to sleep that's the hardest part," Roy admitted, and Riza let out a soft groan.

"Oh, dear," Rada replied. "Colic?"

Riza nodded. "From seven to nine every night— _every_ night—she just cries and cries. Her doctor just tells me she'll grow out of it. In a couple of months," she added despondently.

"Fennel tea!" Rada and Dr. Marcoh said simultaneously.

Roy and Riza looked back and forth at them, hope dawning in their eyes. "Really?" Riza asked.

"My babies didn't have colic, thank Ishvala," Rada said. "But two of my little sisters did. My grandmother gave them fennel seed tea, and it worked like a charm."

Marcoh nodded in agreement. "It's an age-old standby for all kinds of gastrointestinal ailments, but city doctors tend to dismiss country remedies."

"You know, I'm sure I gave Winry a bag of fennel seeds when she left Ishval," Rada said.

"It's up in my pantry."

Scar looked down, a little startled at the voice that came from just below his right elbow. Pinako had suddenly appeared there without making a sound.

"We haven't done anything with it yet," Pinako went on. "It's way up on the top shelf." She turned her small dark eyes onto Scar. "You're tall," she observed. She turned away, beckoning for him to follow her. "Come and get it down for me."

It was not a suggestion. Scar carefully handed Christina back to her mother, and after sharing a glance with Rada, he turned to follow the old woman. They went through the dining room, where the pie and coffee service was concentrated, and then into the kitchen, which was empty and quiet. Pinako crossed the room, a typical large country kitchen, to a pair of doors, which she opened to reveal a large walk-in pantry.

She took a few steps back, planted her hands on her hips and peered up, leaning back slightly, her pipe jutting out sideways from her teeth. Then she pointed. "It's one of those bags up there," she said. She hadn't looked behind her, apparently taking it for granted that Scar would be there. "I'm not sure which one."

Scar stepped past her to look up at the shelf, which was just about level with his forehead. Pinako barely reached his waist. He had noticed a well-used folding step ladder tucked into a corner near the pantry, but he made no mention of it. He reached up to take one of the canvas bags. He recognized them as one of several that Rada had included in a basket that she had sent home with Winry. They weren't marked as to their contents, and he took one down. Judging by the stick-like shape of its contents, Scar identified it as cinnamon, and a brief smell confirmed it. Another bag held small, hard objects that smelled of cloves. The third bag he took down held what felt like small seeds and gave off a smell like licorice. To make sure, Scar loosened the drawstring and looked inside at the pale, slender seeds.

"Here they are," he said, handing the bag down to Pinako.

"Ah, good." The old woman held the bag to her nose and breathed in the aroma. "I've been thinking of making some bread with these, but I just haven't gotten around to it. Bread's kind of an all-day project, and I ain't got all day." She went over to the kitchen table and set the bag down. "That doctor fellow out there was right. My Urey was a good country doctor, and he never turned his nose up at something like this. If he saw a need, he filled it, even if others thought he was a little crazy."

She paused, looking up at Scar. She seemed to be prompting him, even daring him to say something, and there were a number of things he knew he could or even ought to say. But they were things she already knew.

_Your son was a good, brave, and noble man, and he didn't deserve what happened to him. He and his wife have earned a special resting place in Ishvala's bosom._

Pinako considered him for a few more moments in silence, a slight frown pinching her features.

_I will never be able to atone for the wrong I committed. I can only pray for your son and his wife and for those they left behind. If forgiveness comes at the end of days, I will gladly and humbly accept it, but for now, I don't seek it._

Pinako let out a little puff of breath and pulled a chair away from the table, sitting down on it. "You ain't the chatty sort, are you?"

 _Anything I say would only be an excuse._ "I could recite a litany of platitudes, _Zhaarana_ Rockbell," Scar said finally, quietly resigned. "But do you really want to hear them? I think it would be an offense."

A smile twitched at the corner of Pinako's mouth and she waved at the chair across the table from her. "Have a sit."

Scar pulled the chair out, lowering himself into it and sitting a little stiffly.

"Well, let me say a few things, then." Pinako blew out a wisp of smoke. "Winry never let on that she'd met up with you until after she came back from Ishval," she began. "She sat down with me, just like you and I are sitting here. She told me how she met you the first time and how she nearly blew your fool head off. She told about the second time she met you, the time she bandaged your arm. Then she told me how she'd caught up with you in Ishval and what passed between you out there. It all came spilling out of her, and I wasn't really sure how to feel at first. I wasn't even sure if I felt angry or if I just went clean past it."

Pinako tapped the ash out of her pipe into a small tray on the table. "You drink?"

The question caught Scar a little by surprise, but he rallied. "Not much, and not this early in the day."

"Me neither," Pinako replied. "Not anymore anyway. But frankly, I could use a little nip right now." She slid off her chair and went back to the pantry. She reached behind some jars of peaches and drew out a dusty bottle from the back of a shelf , then went to another cupboard to get a couple of short glasses. She set them on the table, took the cork from the bottle, and poured out a couple of shots.

"I don't haul this out much. This is a sippin' whiskey," she informed Scar. "So take your time with it." She got back into her seat, picked up her glass, and clinked it against Scar's. "Here's lookin' at ya!"

" _Ho'avaat_ ," Scar replied, wishing her many years. He took a cautious sip from his glass and found its contents to be remarkably smooth, even to his inexperienced palate. He set the glass down, feeling a warm bloom spread through his chest. He ventured something daring. "Tell me more about your son."

If Pinako was startled by the question, she didn't show it. She just gave Scar a quick, sharp look, then looked down at her glass, rolling the amber liquid around in it. She drew in a deep breath and let it go slowly. "He was one in a million," she said quietly. "And I'm not just saying that because I was his mother. It would be just like him to go into a war zone and patch up whoever came to him, no matter whose side they were on. He lived up to his calling, right up to the end."

Scar would have expected there to be an accusing tone in Pinako's voice at that last remark, but there was none. The old woman had a smile playing on her lips. "That's what makes me so damn proud of him. He was thoughtful, he was patient, and he was compassionate. Him and Sara both. But there was something else about Urey, too. He never held a grudge. He told me one time that life was too short for resentment." Her smile went a little sad. "Of course, his life ended up being a little shorter than others."

A silence fell in the room, but it was expectant rather than awkward. "Wisdom seems to run in your family," Scar said finally, then added, "I don't mean to ingratiate myself by that. It's simply a fact."

Pinako gave a thoughtful nod. "Winry's a bit more like her mother. Plucky and sensible. She's young, but she's got one of the best heads on her shoulders of anybody I've met. I've come to trust her judgment better than a lot of folks'." She let out a little chuckle. "She can't knit or sew worth a damn, but nobody's perfect." She sobered and fixed Scar with an intent look. "So if she can come to feel the way she does about you, and if she means as much to you as I'm thinking she does, then I guess that's just gonna have to be good enough for me. No point gettin' all bogged down in the past when the future's so bright."

Scar had to look away, frowning down at his glass. "This is not what I expected," he admitted. "And it's more generous than I had hoped, but far more than I deserve. The past, especially this one, should never be forgotten."

"Oh, I never said that!" Pinako replied firmly. "Not forgotten! Not at all." She gave a little smirk. "Just tucked to the side so we don't trip over it but we know it's there." She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm not saying you don't owe me and mine, because by _damn_ , mister, you do, and I intend to hold you to that. Someday I'm not gonna be around to look after these youngsters and I don't wanna be lyin' on my deathbed frettin' over 'em. So if they're in trouble"- -Pinako stabbed a finger in his direction- -"I expect you to drop whatever you're doin' and come a-runnin'!"

If Edward was included as one of those youngsters, Scar wasn't sure how much his help would be welcomed. But that wasn't the point. He bowed his head. "I am in your debt and at your service, _Zhaarana_."

"Good!" Apparently satisfied, Pinako took the whiskey bottle and poured a couple more sips into each glass.

Scar didn't particularly want more, but it would be ungracious to say so, particularly under the circumstances. He took the moment to glance around the kitchen. "Do you have a piece of paper at hand?"

Pinako pointed with her chin to the counter behind Scar. "Top drawer there."

Scar turned in his seat. He could reach the drawer from where he was and opened it. There were a number of odds and ends in it, including a worn notepad. He took the pad and one of several short, battered pencils that were also in the drawer and turned back to the table.

"This is something I acquired only recently," he said, writing on the top sheet of the notebook. "It's not something I even wanted to have, but my wife talked me into it." He turned the pad around to face Pinako and pushed it across the table toward her.

Pinako peered down at the notepad. "It's a phone number."

"The number for the governor's office is listed publicly among other government agencies." Scar met Pinako's gaze levelly as she looked up from the pad. "This is my home telephone number, which is unlisted. I don't expect you to actually need it, but I want you to have it just the same. I would not entrust this to just anyone, and I don't expect you to feel privileged to have it." He sat back and picked up his glass. "The privilege is mine."

Pinako considered the notepad one more time. "Huh!" she remarked after a few moments. She gripped the corner of the paper and tore it from the pad, folding it carefully and tucking it into the pocket of her trousers. "I'll keep it safe," she said. She gave a little grin. "Who knows? One o' these fine evenings I might feel like chewin' the fat and give you a call."

Scar lifted his hands, tacitly inviting her to do so. He wasn't sure he wanted her to make a habit of it, but he had committed himself.

"And I'll make sure Ed doesn't get a hold of it," Pinako went on with a chuckle. "He just might call you in the middle of the night to ask you if your refrigerator is running."

Scar gave her a blank look. "Why would he do that?"

"Because when you'd tell him that it was, he'd tell you that you'd better go run and catch it. And then he'd hang up."

Scar gave her an even blanker look and Pinako laughed heartily. "Oh, man alive! That's worth a couple points in your favor right there!" She leaned across the table and tapped her glass against his again. "Here's to ya!"

Scar raised his glass and swallowed another mouthful of the whiskey, thinking that no matter how hard he tried, there would always be some things about Amestrians that would be beyond his understanding. He let Pinako enjoy the levity of the moment before he broached one more subject. " _Zhaarana_ Pinako, there is something that I wanted to ask you once I arrived here and when the time was appropriate. There's a service I would like to perform for your family, but admittedly for myself as well. An obligation."

Pinako raised her eyebrows. "Oh? Do tell."

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Oh, dear."

Winry stood with her hands clasped tightly under her chin and she gave a little sniffle. "I know."

"Oh, _dear!_ "

Winry balled up her fists and gave a little stamp of frustration. "I know! I'm so sorry! I thought it would be so easy, but it wasn't! I'm so used to working with metal! I know metal! It's solid and dependable! Cloth has a mind of its own! It's floppy and it's evil!"

Rada looked at her with an affectionate smile. "Oh, don't be sorry, sweetie. You did you best. For a first try, it's not…too bad…" She moved around the dressmaker's dummy and picked up the hem of the somewhat misshapen dress that sat on it. She frowned. "What's this?"

Winry leaned over to look, and she blushed. "I think it's jelly."

Rada lifted an eyebrow at another stain. "And this? It looks like oil."

"Machine oil!" Winry squeaked guility.

Rada let out a sigh. "Winry, sweetheart, if you're ever going to do this again, you have to remember to keep your work area and your hands clean." She looked back down at the skirt of the dress. "Do you have any more silk left?"

Winry nodded quickly. "Oh, yes. A bunch of it!" She gave a sudden, horrified gasp. "Am I going to have to start over from the beginning?"

Rada shook her head. "No, I don't think it'll come to that. I can take out the panels with the stains and put in clean ones." She eyed the bodice critically. "This might need to come apart and be resewn." She took the sleeves and spread them apart. They were different lengths. Winry seemed to have a problem with that. "Are you sure you used the same pattern for these?"

Winry groaned and clasped her head. "I don't know how that happened!"

Rada smiled. "It's all right. We'll fix it."

"Are you sure?" Winry's brows puckered anxiously. "The wedding's tomorrow! Will there be enough time?"

"We've got the whole rest of the day," Rada assured her. "My family's all here and they can look after the twins while I work on this."

Winry threw her arms around her. "Oh, Rada, you're the best!"

"I couldn't agree more."

Winry spun around as Scar stepped through the doorway of her room. With a little squeal, she ran into his outstretched arms. "It's so good to see you!"

"And you," Scar told her, hugging her tightly.

"I've been hoggin' him up downstairs in the kitchen," Pinako said as she entered, jerking a thumb at Scar. "I've been lookin' for a new drinkin' buddy ever since Hohenheim took off." As Winry gave her a shocked look, Pinako let out a chuckle. "I'm still lookin'."

Winry looked from her back to Scar. She had almost forgotten the unfinished business between them, but she detected no tension from either of them, indicating some sort of truce. How fragile it was she didn't know, but however they had done it, something had gotten resolved.

"Are you free at the moment, Winry?" Scar asked her.

"Well, I'm not sure." Winry turned to Rada, who was already pulling the dress off the form. "Do you want me to stay and help?"

Rada shook her head. "No, thanks, sweetie." With an expert flip, she pulled the dress inside out and was inspecting the seams. "I've got this covered." She looked over at the girl and smiled. "You go downstairs and visit. I'll be fine."

"Oh. Okay. If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

There was a thumping sound as Ed came bounding up the stairs. "There you are!" he exclaimed. There was a slight indignation in his voice, so it was unclear whom he was addressing. "Where have—"

"Ed! Where's your sweater?" Winry demanded.

Ed froze, his mouth slightly open in mid-sentence. "Uh…it's downstairs…it was too warm in the house," he mumbled. He cleared his throat and drew himself up. "Everybody saw it," he declared. "They thought it was great!"

"I said it was lovely," Rada added, looking through Winry's box of sewing notions. "Didn't I, Andakar?"

"You did, my love," Scar replied solemnly.

Ed shot him a dark, suspicious look, then Pinako spoke up. "Well, you can put it back on because you're going out for a walk."

Ed gave a little start. "I am?"

"You are." Scar turned to him. "I recall you expressing a desire to show me the Rockbell family grave."


	3. Chapter 3

Ed trudged along with his hands shoved in his pockets, the one sleeve of his sweater bunched around his right wrist and the other sleeve leaving his left wrist exposed. He didn't really want to be here, but he couldn't very well back down from Scar's subtle challenge. He also would probably never quite shake the uneasiness, however slight, at the idea of Winry being alone with the Ishvalan. Yes, fine, he had become a respected leader of his people, a devoted husband and father, a damn _hero_ , but Ed had a hard time letting go of the past. He always had. Now the respect that was slowly and grudgingly growing for his former enemy was warring in his mind with the animosity that he was unable and, perhaps a little unwilling, to release. It made him feel sullen and put upon.

Winry had managed not only to shed her bitterness and hatred, she had embraced the killer of her parents, both figuratively and actually. Well, that was Winry. It was impossible not to love someone with that capacity for goodness. Maybe some of it had rubbed off on Scar. It had sure saved his life. Lucky bastard.

That being the case, it perhaps shouldn't have been so unlikely for those two to be drawn together. Perhaps it was just some sort of weird hiccup in the fabric of space and time that flipped fate upside down, or whichever way it was now facing. Maybe justice considered itself served. Maybe it was still waiting. Maybe it had thrown its hands up in exasperation and moved on to something that made more sense.

Anyway, here they were, on the road to the cemetery to perform some sort of Ishvalan mumbo-jumbo. Ed was not into that sort of thing. He didn't think Winry was either, but it seemed like she and Scar were somehow doing each other a favor by going through with this. Ed didn't see the point. Uncle Urey and Aunt Sara had been buried years ago. On the other hand, it was only right for Scar to come and pay his respects for having put them in the ground in the first place.

But somehow, something was rankling, poking Ed in sensitive areas of his brain. He walked a few paces ahead of the others. Behind him, Winry and Scar were engaged in light conversation with Danika joining them from time to time. Ed could feel his face grow warm as he realized that what he was feeling was jealousy. Scar was certainly not a rival for Winry's hand, but he had come to hold a special place in her affections. Sure, Winry's heart was as big as the world and had plenty of room, but Ed wasn't sure he liked sharing even a small portion of that capacious space with the former alchemist killer. He felt embarrassed and childish to harbor such thoughts. He told himself that what made Winry happy should make him happy, too. They were getting married the very next day and Scar would be going home where he belonged and the weave of the fabric of time and space would align itself back to normal.

"So how come Stanno didn't show up?" Winry asked, a touch of humor in her voice.

"He stayed in Ishval," Scar sounded a little evasive.

"Well, yeah, I figured that," Winry went on. "I'm not exactly heartbroken that he's not here, but he seems like the kind of guy who likes to be included."

"He is," Scar agreed. He paused a few moments, and when he spoke again, it sounded like the words cost him his very soul. "I…appointed him lieutenant governor."

Winry drew in a dramatic gasp, and even Ed looked back over his shoulder in surprise at Scar, who quickly added, "Temporarily! He has no authority to make policy decisions in my absence, and I told him that I would be checking my desk for his heel marks."

"He won't put his feet up on your desk," Winry assured him. "He's too much in love with the stuff he builds to leave scratches in them. But you might want to check your phone bill when it comes in. He might make some long-distance calls on the government's cenz just for fun."

"Any damage he causes he'll pay for, one way or another," Scar growled in a tone that reminded Ed of his old nemesis, and an icy finger tickled his spine.

Winry just laughed, dispelling the momentary chill. "Or maybe it'll teach him some responsibility," she suggested.

"I despair of that ever happening," Scar said, dismissing the subject and moving on to another. "Is Alphonse coming? I would have thought he'd be here by now."

"He's supposed to be," Ed replied. "He said he and Mei were coming for sure."

"I expected them to stop at Ishval with the Chang caravan and go on by train," Scar said. "But they didn't."

"I wanna meet Mei!" Danika piped up excitedly. "Papa said she's really, really nice!"

"In the letter Al sent," Winry put in, "he said that since it was winter and not so hot, they were taking a straight shot through the desert." She gave a little shrug. "Whatever that means."

"Well, however he gets here," Ed said, "he'll get here, no matter what. He's my best man, after all."

The road rose a little, then leveled out to reveal the cemetery. It had never been a gloomy place, and on this crisp, clear winter day, it almost had a welcoming feel to it. Ed always thought it wasn't a bad place to get buried. He led the way through the gate and past the rows of tombstones until they reached the plot where the Doctors Rockbell lay.

Scar stood at the foot of the graves, gazing somberly at the headstones that gave names and humanity to the lives he took in an inhuman rage. Ed studied the Ishvalan's face out of the corner of his eye, waiting for him to perhaps turn away out of shame and guilt. His look was a quietly heavy one, no doubt about that, but if there was any shame, he was hiding it well. That irritated Ed a little.

Then Scar took a few steps back, and Ed wondered if he had suddenly chickened out, unable to ultimately face his victims, even when he couldn't see them. But then Scar lowered himself to his knees, and then he bent forward, pressing his palms and his forehead to the ground. The others stepped back a little to give him some room and a little privacy, if only by a few inches. Ed felt vaguely embarrassed by this display. He couldn't help wondering if he would have felt better seeing Scar huddled in that same spot, bruised and bloodied. Now he just wished he'd get up and get on with it.

After several moments, Scar straightened back up, dusting off his forehead and brushing his palms. Winry stirred and looked up at him with curiosity.

"Did you sense anything when you had your hands on the ground?" she asked. "Like when you found that river? You know, with the…" She held out one of her arms and traced an invisible design with her finger over it.

Scar considered his hands and his tattooed forearms for a moment. "Such as?"

Winry shrugged. "I don't know. That's why I asked you. I mean, this is a graveyard, after all."

"You mean do I sense anything from those buried here?" Scar asked, then he answered his own question kindly. "They're not here, Winry, only their physical remains."

Winry looked down at the graves. "I know that. I just…wondered."

Ed had been intrigued by the account of Scar's unique ability, and his curiosity got the better of any diffidence he felt. "What did you sense just now? Does the dragon's pulse, or whatever, actually feel or, you know, _sound_ like something?"

Scar frowned slightly. "I do feel a kind of flow, not of consciousness, but of…life, I suppose."

"Like the earth is a kind of life form!" Ed added with growing excitement. "That's what—"

Scar shook his head and raised his hand. "Another time, Fullmetal. That's not our purpose here."

Ed shrugged his shoulders. "Just saying…" he mumbled.

Scar turned to his daughter. "Hold up the box, Danika."

Danika had been carrying a small wooden box made of reddish-brown wood burnished to a satiny sheen. She raised it up and Scar opened it and removed two small, shallow brass bowls. He bent down to set one on the grave of Urey Rockbell and one on Sara Rockbell's. From the box he then took a box of matches and a small bag and loosened the drawstring at its opening. He poured out some small chunks of earthy-colored material into each bowl, then he struck a match and held it to the clusters in each bowl. Smoke began to rise from each bowl, giving off a slightly sharp, slightly musky fragrance.

Scar straightened up and raised his hands, palms facing up. He drew in a breath and began to chant in a deep, resonant voice. Ed almost gave a start. He never would have imagined a sound like that coming out of Scar's mouth. The words, in Ishvalan, were completely alien to Ed, and they seemed to flow together. Being a prayer for the dead, it was, not surprisingly, in a minor key, but it was not melancholy.

Scar came to what seemed like the end of a long phrase, then he continued on to a shorter one, this time joined by Danika, her high, childlike tone contrasting yet blending with her father's. They went back and forth like this, verse and response, for several minutes, the tone of the chant changing periodically.

On the way out here, Scar had explained that it was the duty of the head of any Ishvalan household to perform this ritual for the family's dead at least once a year. Sure, it sounded nice, but Ed couldn't help wondering just whose benefit it was actually for. Once someone was dead, that was pretty much it. Memorial services were common pretty much everywhere, but it didn't make the departed any less departed. Scar said something about a spiritual connection between the living and those who had found rest in Ishvala's bosom, whatever that meant. Ed didn't show enough interest to hear more, so Scar had given up. Now if he could just get him to elaborate on his particular brand of alchemy, then Ed would listen.

Ed turned his head a little to watch Winry. She stood with her arms crossed, a thoughtful, solemn, slightly sad look on her face. Maybe she needed this. It was like she was able to experience her parents' funeral as an adult who could make sense of what had happened, not a scared, bewildered little girl. So if she was happy, he was happy. But when Scar finished his ritual and stepped away from the graves, Winry went up and hugged him, and Ed felt an annoying tingle along the back of his neck. He almost hunched up his shoulders like an irritated owl. Why didn't she hug him first? Why hadn't he thought about it in time?

"Thank you!" Winry said to Scar, giving a little sniffle.

"Thank _you_ ," Scar replied, holding her tightly.

"How did I do, Papa?" Danika asked. "Did I do good?"

Scar smiled and placed a hand on top of the girl's head. "You did well," Scar corrected her gently. "You did very well, indeed."

Danika gave a little pleased jiggle. "Uncle Dejan says I'm a really good singer for a little kid. He wants me to go on tour with them next year!"

Scar gave a slight, indulgent smile. "He has to ask me first."

"He will!" Danika replied with bright confidence, walking past her father toward the road.

"Don't you want to get these bowls?" Edward asked as Scar and Winry started moving away.

Scar shook his head. "The incense hasn't burned out yet. I can collect them tomorrow."

Ed considered the bowls dubiously. "I dunno. Somebody might take them."

Scar looked back at him. "I can't believe that even in a place like Amestris, anyone would rob a graveyard. No one in Ishval would do such a thing."

"It's okay, Ed," Winry assured him. "Let's just get back to the house."

"Fine," Ed mumbled, hurrying after them.

This time, Ed and Winry walked in front, leaving Scar and Danika to take up the rear. Ed still felt out-of-sorts. He gave a restless roll of his shoulders. "I've gotta take this sweater off! It itches!"

Winry scowled at him. "You never told me it itched before!"

"I just now noticed. Honestly, Winry, it itches and it's just not cold enough for it."

Winry blew out an exasperated breath. "Fine! Go ahead! Take it off!" She gave him a shove and strode on ahead. "See if I make you another sweater!"

Ed was in the process of struggling to pull his head out of the neck opening, so he was occupied enough to not make the mistake of expressing relief and glee at Winry's remark.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Hey, Papa?"

"What, little blackbird?"

Danika frowned at the young couple ahead of them. "How come…" Her frown deepened in concentration and perplexity. "How come if Winry and Edward are getting married…how come they're not more like you and Mama?"

Scar watched the exchange up ahead. "How do you mean?"

"Well, when you and Mama were gonna get married, you were…y'know…all huggy and kissy." Danika pronounced this observation as something that was all right for other people. At her present stage in life, she recognized the particular type of hugginess and kissiness practiced by adults was something necessary, but vaguely distasteful.

"I think the word you're looking for is 'affectionate'."

Danika nodded. "Yeah! That! Winry and Edward aren't being very 'fectionate."

Scar lifted his shoulders slightly. "We haven't been here that long. Perhaps you simply haven't noticed."

"Oh…I dunno…" Danika remarked ominously with a shake of her head.

Scar tried not to smile, because it really wasn't funny. For a young couple to be bickering on the eve of their wedding was not a good sign. He would have expected Edward to behave on the childish side, being of a hotheaded nature, and familiarity, it was said, tended to breed contempt. Perhaps it was just nerves. As little as it was his place to say so, Scar couldn't help thinking that Winry deserved better. But she had made her choice. All Edward needed to do in his remaining day as a bachelor was grow up.


	4. Chapter 4

Before they even got all the way up the road to the Rockbell house, they could hear the commotion. There were shouts mingled with the noises of large animals.

"What the hell?" Edward moved to the side of the road and craned his neck a little to get a better view, but a moment later, an elephant, elegantly arrayed in gold and white trappings, a great gold howdah on its back, appeared around the side of the house. It was soon joined by another in blue and silver. Edward stiffened with surprise, then let out a whoop of laughter.

"I don't believe it!" he cried. He rushed to Winry's side and grabbed her hand. "Al's here! And he's not alone!"

The young couple ran up the road toward the house and Danika looked up anxiously at her father, grasping his hand and pulling on it. "Come on, Papa! We gotta catch up!"

"You go ahead, little one," Scar told her. "I'll be there soon enough."

"'Kay!" Danika raced to catch up with Ed and Winry, who paused briefly for her. They each took one of her hands, and the three of them ran the rest of the way toward the house.

By the time Scar arrived, a scene had formed that looked very much like a circus. Four lavishly decorated elephants and eight camels were being attended to by silk-liveried grooms. A huge tent was being erected in a meadow behind the house. Most of the occupants of the house had come outside to admire the animals as well as the new arrivals. All it needed were clowns.

In the center of this mass of bodies were Edward and Winry, and they both had their arms around two of the newcomers, all four of them laughing with joy. Scar could have sworn Alphonse had gotten taller. He knew Edward had, and Alphonse still topped him by an inch or two. Joining their embrace with no apparent concern for his elevated station was a black-haired young man clad in rich damasked silk. Flanked behind him was a retinue of servants and masked guards. Scar recognized him immediately, even though he had seen him before only briefly. He who had once been possessed by a homunculus had gone on to become emperor of one of the largest countries in the world. That was almost less surprising than to see that this same emperor had traveled across the desert to attend a small town wedding in Amestris.

The four of them were in turn sandwiched between two large men. Jerso and Zampano were nearly in tears at this reunion.

Scar saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and he braced himself for the approaching impact.

"Mister _Scaaaarrr!_ "

In a flurry of braids and silk, May, princess of the house of Chang, flung her arms around his neck and sent him staggering several steps back. Her small familiar, Xiao Mei, scampered onto his shoulder and snuggled there, making excited little squeaking sounds.

"Oh!" May leaned back in Scar's embrace, her eyes widening as she gazed into his face. "I'm sorry! I should have said Mister Andakar!"

"For you, I'll answer to both," Scar said, setting her down on her feet. He stepped back to get a good look at her. She had definitely matured and grown taller, although she was still petite. Scar still wasn't quite sure where to place her age, but he took a guess at perhaps fifteen. "You look well, May," he told her.

May beamed up at him. "So do you!" Her smile widened with affection. "You look happy!"

Scar considered this for a moment. He certainly didn't amble around with a grin on his face, but he supposed the fact that fate had been much kinder to him than he deserved was bound to be reflected in his demeanor somehow. "I'm content," he replied.

May gave an excited little gasp and clasped her hands together. "I must meet your family! Alphonse said your wife is beautiful!"

Scar looked around, but he wasn't even sure if Rada was anywhere in the bustle of people. He did see his daughter skirting around the edge of the crowd. "Danika!" he called out.

The little girl turned and scampered over. She and May stared at each other in delight. "Danika, this is—"

Introductions proved to be superfluous. The two girls both let out a squeal and threw their arms around each other.

"I'm so happy to meet you!"

"Me too!"

May stepped back and grasped Danika's hands. "You're so pretty!"

Danika giggled. "You too!"

Xiao Mei crept down May's arm to inspect Danika closer. The little girl froze in utter delight, not daring to move lest she frighten the small creature. "Xiao Mei," May said, "this is Mister S—I mean Andakar's daughter!"

Xiao Mei gave a squeak and hopped onto Danika's shoulder, making the little girl giggle helplessly.

One voice rose above and cut through the hum. "Ling, you scapegrace!"

Ling gave his friends one more tight hug. "Don't go away!" he warned them then turned to the approaching Ishvalan with his arms wide. "Shua, you shameless rascal! I hear you've moved up in the world!"

"Ah, I've always been on top of the world!" Shua gave him a tight hug then held him by the shoulders at arm's length. "Well, look at you! You haven't done so bad yourself."

Ling shrugged and grinned. "Oh, well. You know. Can't complain."

"Sorry to hear about your dad, though," Shua said. "I never actually saw his face, but he made me a prosperous man."

"I didn't do too badly by him either," Ling replied. He lifted himself onto his toes and searched the faces around them. "Now where is that Scar fellow? Your Ishvalan governor?"

Shua looked around. "He's here somewhere, I think. Ah! There!"

Scar saw himself pointed at, then he watched as the Emperor of Xing strode purposefully toward him. Scar placed his palms together and bowed.

" _Greetings, your Majesty_ ," he said in very passable Xingese.

Ling's mouth dropped open and in his surprise he replied in his own language. Scar quickly held up his hand.

"Forgive me, your Majesty. I only remember a few phrases. My brother was, among other things, a linguist, and he tried to teach me Xingese."

"Well, it sounded fine," Ling replied. "A hint of a middle-class accent, but we're not at court, so it hardly matters. Speaking of which, please just call me Ling. After all," he added, his grin flashing brighter, "you and I were very nearly related!"

Scar raised a surprised, questioning brow. "How so?"

"Oh, it was back a ways." Ling frowned in thought for a moment, then called over his shoulder. "Hey, Al! Come on over here!" He turned back to Scar. "Al's the one who found the account. I gave him the whole run of the Imperial library and now you can hardly get him out of it. May's been feeling very neglected, haven't you, May?" Ling looked over at his half-sister with a mischievous grin.

May just sent him a look of mild contempt and stuck her tongue out at him.

Al extricated himself from the group hug and trotted over. Scar watched the younger Elric approach with an approving look. Life in Xing appeared to agree with him. He had not only grown a little taller since Scar saw him last, but he seemed to have more breadth to his shoulders. The slightly hollow look to his face had completely disappeared and he practically glowed with health. If the Xingese were looking for a true _shin hito_ , they wouldn't have to look much farther.

Al broke into a smile and extended his hand. " _Zhaarad Khorovar_!"

Scar clasped his hand warmly. "It's good to see you again, Alphonse!"

Ling gave him a nudge. "Tell him what you found out!"

"Oh, that! Well," Al began. "I've been spending a lot of time in the Imperial library, you see-"

"I just told him that!" Ling cut it. "Get on with it!"

"Yeah, I know!" Al assured him. To Scar he said, "They have chronicles going back for centuries!"

"The Xingese are really big on chronicling," Ling added, then chuckled. "We're chronic chroniclers!"

Al pushed his shoulder. "Would you shut up! I'm never going to finish at this rate." He turned back to Scar. "The Master of the Library has been really great about translating things for me. I found a lot of material written about Xing's relations with Isvhal that goes back over a thousand years."

Scar interest focused sharply. "What kind of material?"

"There was a lot of activity between Xing and Ishval back then, much more than there is now. They were both royal courts and they exchanged ambassadors and everything. The ambassadors kept accounts of what they were doing, their personal observations, stuff like that. And the caravan masters were all supposed to keep detailed records of their travels and their business transactions. There's a ton of information, at least on the Xingese side."

Scar shook his head in amazement. "Much of our own written history from that time was lost in the Great Earthquake. We were able to preserve what we could, but I want to see these accounts!"

Ling waved a hand. "I'll have my people start translating them for you as soon as I get back."

"I'd be grateful."

"No problem! Expect a state visit." Ling nudged Al again. "So tell him! You're the one who read it all."

"Well, I haven't read all of it yet." Al looked at Scar, his golden eyes bright. "But I came across this one account that was written a little over a thousand years ago. One of the sons of the Xingese emperor—"

"From the Yao clan!" Ling cut in.

"Yeah, anyway, he traveled to Ishval as a companion to the ambassador," Al went on. "While he was there, he fell in love with this young noblewoman. Her name was Khatirah. The ambassador wrote that she was gorgeous and the prince tried his best to win her affection. He's supposed to have gotten pretty close, but she ended up marrying the prince of Ishval. Vozrahir, I think his name was."

Scar nodded. "He was the last prince of Isvhal! And his wife was—"

"From the house of Ruhad!" Ling finished for him triumphantly. "So you and I were just _that_ close"—he held his thumb and forefinger and bare half inch apart—"to being family!" He clapped Al on the back. "You gotta love history!"

"With respect, Ling," Scar said, "I don't think it was that close. An Ishvalan woman would never marry a man who would take other wives, not to mention concubines."

Ling gave an unconcerned shrug. "You've got to keep the lineage going. I think it's great!"

"For you, maybe," Al scoffed. He looked at Scar, pointing to Ling. "He's got three wives already!"

Scar wasn't entirely able to keep the look of disapproval off his face, but it was completely lost on Ling anyway. The young Emperor just chuckled like a small boy. "We're just one big happy family!"

"I daresay," Scar replied in a tone that did not encourage elaboration.

Ling seemed to have already moved on. He glanced around. "So who else is here? Anybody I know? Oh! There's Mustang!" The young emperor hurried off to where Roy and Riza were talking to Ed and Winry. "See you around, almost cousin!" he called back with a wave.

Scar turned back to Al. "You're not planning on taking multiple wives, are you?"

Al reddened and shook his head with a grin. "Um…no." He chuckled quietly as he glanced over at May, who was deep in conversation with Danika. "Ling was ready to get us married as soon as I got to Xing, and it took me a while to convince him that we wanted to wait."

"Good for you."

"But then he said if I didn't marry May by the time she was eighteen, he'd send a squad of assassins after me."

"It won't come to that, surely," Scar said with a hint of a smile.

"Oh, no," Al said with a shake of his head. "May and I already have our own plans. We'll probably end up settling here in Resembool."

"Al! May!" Winry called, one hand cupped beside her mouth and the other hand waving. "Come over here!"

"Excuse me," Al said quickly to Scar as he moved away. "We'll talk later! Come on, May!"

May gave Danika another hug, then took Al's hand as they walked away. Danika turned to her father. "Papa, can I go see the elephants?"

"All right." Scar had developed an admiration for elephants, and these were a fine group, somewhat larger than the ones who were in the circus that had come to Ishval. As they headed toward where the animals were being attended, a masked figure appeared on their path. The figure was dressed in black and leather, and the mask was a sharp contrast in white and red. The figure reached a gauntleted hand to the mask and removed it, revealing the delicate features of a young Xingese woman. She bowed deeply, then gazed up at Scar, slightly in awe.

"Do you remember me?" she asked.

Scar studied her face. Every moment of that day was seared into his memory, and her face was one of the brighter images. She had given him aid without judging him, as one warrior to another. He had taken those few moments of respite to explain about his brother's research and his struggle to find a way to break the power of the homunculi. Then he had passed out from loss of blood and he never saw her again until this moment. "Of course, I remember you."

The young woman seemed pleased by this, giving a little smile and another bow. "Your lordship honors me."

Scar stared at her, startled. "What?"

The young woman looked up at him. "My lord the emperor learned that you are of a noble house. Is this not true?"

Scar shrugged a little. "Nobility is a matter of virtue and merit, as far as I'm concerned. You're referring to an age long past. I hold my position by the will of my people, not divine right."

"Oh." The young woman considered this for a moment, but seemed reluctant to accept it. "You are still, I think, extraordinary, otherwise your people would not have chosen you to lead them." Her gaze didn't lose any of its admiration. "I knew you would survive that great battle."

"I'm flattered by your confidence," Scar said. "I had some doubts, myself. Forgive me, but I never learned your name."

"It's Lan Fan," the young woman replied, giving yet another bow.

"Lan Fan," Scar repeated. "I'm just a man, and whatever gifts God has graced me with I use for His will and for the good of my people."

Lan Fan nodded. "Then your god has graced you with wisdom, your lordship."

Scar mentally cringed and was about to correct her, but at that moment her attention was diverted. She frowned slightly as she instinctively tensed and her eyes flicked toward the sound of Ling's laughter as it carried from where he stood across the yard, joking with General Mustang.

Scar glanced back over his shoulder, then looked back at Lan Fan. "He's safe enough here."

Lan Fan gave a brief nod, and her frown grew to a smile that was meant to be guarded but could not hide the affection that inspired it. "He may be emperor, but he hasn't changed. He's still silly." She reddened as a sudden guilty look crossed her features and she glanced up at Scar, alarmed. "I meant no disrespect!" she said quickly. "You won't tell him I said that, will you?"

"Certainly not."

"He is also wise, in his own way."

"I'm sure he is."

"My family has served his for generations."

A smile pulled at Scar's mouth. "Between warriors, Lan Fan, your secret is safe with me."

Lan Fan looked relieved. "Thank you, your lordship."

Scar gave a quiet sigh. This needed to get nipped. "That really isn't necessary."

Lan Fan's eyebrows pinched slightly. "Then how shall I address you?"

"I call him Papa!" Danika offered helpfully.

Lan Fan smiled at the little girl. "Your father is a great man," she told her.

Danika grasped Scar's hand with both of hers and swung it back and forth. "I know! He's the _khorovar_!" she pronounced proudly.

Lan Fan nodded, then looked back at Scar. She pressed her palms together for one more bow. "Master _Khorovar_ ," she said solemnly.

Scar inclined his head. That would do.

"Can I meet your elephants,?" Danika asked excitedly.

Lan Fan glanced back at the elephants. "Yes, of course you can. They're well-disciplined and quite safe." She smiled at the little girl. "I'll ask the elephant master if he'll let you sit in one of the howdahs."

Danika breathed in a deep, ecstatic gasp, which was all the answer she could express.

"You go ahead, Danika," Scar told her. "I want to go find your mother."

Danika was too busy hopping up and down in delight to answer. Lan Fan took her hand. "I'll guard her well, Master _Khorovar_."

"Then she'll be in safe hands," Scar replied.

As Lan Fan led Danika to where the elephants were being attended, Scar went back toward the house. It was necessary to pass Jerso and Zampano on the way and they descended on him, clapping him soundly on the back and pumping his hand.

"Hey, buddy!" Zampano declared. "How's it hangin'?"

It was a far cry from being addressed as his lordship, but Scar wasn't sure it was an improvement.

Jerso grinned. "So…um…how's the missus?"

"She's well," Scar replied. "We're expecting another child."

Zampano let out a loud whoop. "Congratulations! That makes—what—seven?"

Jerso gave Scar a sharp nudge and a broad wink. "You never did pull your punches, did you?"

Both chimeras exploded in bawdy laughter. Scar suppressed an urge, however well-meant and good-natured, to knock their heads together. He let them guffaw at their own humor and moved on. As he neared the house, he came across what appeared to be a conspiratorial huddle that included Mustang, Havoc, Miles, Shua, and Dejan. In their midst was Edward, and they seemed to be trying to either explain something to him or convince him of something.

"It's an ancient ritual," Roy was saying.

"Steeped in manly tradition," Miles added.

"We'll I'm in!" Dejan said.

"It'll be great, Fullmetal!" Havoc assured him. "All you have to do is show up. Everything's been arranged."

Edward frowned. "When did that happen?"

"About a week ago," Roy replied. "Now that they have them, I've been on the phone with Havoc and Miles. And not just them." He grinned. "All your old comrades-in-arms will be there! Breda, Falman, Fuery, even Major Armstrong."

"Oh, Ollie's gonna _love_ that!" Shua declared.

Off to one side stood Winry, looking not entirely happy. Scar glanced at her, then turned to the men. "What is this you're planning?"

"Oh, it's been planned," Roy replied. "But the guest of honor"—he gestured at Edward—"is a little unclear on the concept."

"I _know_ what a bachelor party is!" Edward retorted. He shrugged with what was supposed to be nonchalance but wasn't quite convincing. "It was just kind of a surprise, that's all."

"That's the point, kid," Havoc replied. "That's all part of the manly thrill. The element of surprise helps get your adrenaline pumped up."

Edward threw up his hands. "Yeah, okay, okay! Sounds like fun!"

"A bachelor party?" Scar asked, his tone making his distaste apparent.

Miles glanced at the others and muttered, "Told you so." He went to Scar's side and put an arm across his shoulders. "That's why we didn't tell you about it, red-eyed brother. We figured it wasn't your cup of tea, so to speak."

"You're right," Scar replied curtly. "Is Rada still in the house?"

"Yeah, she is," Miles said. "We managed to get all the babies to take a nap at the same time, and she's keeping an eye on them while she's up there sewing."

Scar nodded and headed for the back porch steps, but he felt a hand grab his arm. He stopped and turned to see Winry looking at him with desperate worry.

"You're not going to this party?" she demanded.

"No, Winry," Scar said firmly. "I'd rather have my eyes gouged out."

"But you _have_ to go!" Winry hissed insistently. "The wedding's tomorrow, and all they want to do"—she flipped her hand to indicate the party of conspirators—"is get Ed stupid drunk and then he's going to be a wreck in the morning! You're the only one I can trust to keep Ed from doing something stupid!" Winry gripped the sash that lay across his chest with both hands and pulled on it, gazing up at him imploringly. "Please, _please_ do this for me!"

_Oh, Blessed Creator, is this the punishment You've been saving for me? Is this truly just recompense?_

Scar closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. He looked down into Winry's pleading blue eyes. "Winry Rockbell, you are one of the very, very few people on this earth who could ask me to do such a thing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story that Al tells Scar is one I'm hoping to elaborate on one of these days.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bringing in a character who appeared in the 4th Brotherhood OVA "Yet Another Man's Battlefield" (Best. OVA. Ever.) but was given no name.

His warrior's training had taught him to move silently. It had served him in good stead when creeping through the backstreets of Central, but it also left the sleep of small children undisturbed. He opened the door quietly, meeting Rada's gaze. She sat in a chair with a pile of white silk in her lap, stitching at a hem. She paused for a moment to press a finger to her lips. Scar nodded to acknowledge her warning. Dear girl. It was hardly necessary, but it made a pretty picture.

He closed the door just as silently. Then he crossed the room and stood next to the bed, looking down at the occupants lined up side by side along the bed's length. Attar and Christina were in the middle, flanked by Mattas and Little Winry. Christina stood out in contrast to the Ishvalan children with her ivory skin and her raven black hair, but not really by much. They were just four sets of round, serene little faces, undisturbed by any cares beyond food and affection. Scar sighed quietly. They would grow up and be each other's dearest friends one day and fight like cats and dogs the next. They would get into trouble. They would be their parents' greatest pride or perhaps their greatest heartache. But for now they were just sleeping babies, and Scar envied them their peace.

He moved behind the chair where Rada was sitting. Brushing her hair to one side, he bent down and kissed the back of her neck. Rada giggled softly and let out a quiet sigh of contentment. That meant that he was the only one in the room who felt beleaguered. There was a stool near Rada's chair and he sank onto it, propping his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He felt Rada's fingers as she reached over and ruffled the hair on the crown of his head.

"Oh, dear!" she whispered. "That bad, is it?"

Scar released a long, strained breath that revealed the depth of his annoyance. "I've been strong-armed, Rada," he whispered back. "By a pair of innocent blue eyes."

Rada just smiled and returned to her sewing. "How did a big scary warrior-priest like you get to be such an easy mark?" Her smile grew. "Maybe you're just so big, everyone sees you coming."

"You're not helping."

"What did you get yourself into this time, sweetheart?"

Scar raised his head and regarded his wife. "A bachelor party."

Rada raised her slender eyebrows and looked at him. "Oh? And this reluctant act is supposed to make me think you're not thrilled to go?"

"Whatever makes you think I'm thrilled?"

Rada worked her needle for a few moments in silence, then asked, "Will there be hoochie-cooch dancers?"

Scar stared at her as though she had lost her mind. She had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

"What in God's name are you talking about?" Scar hissed in a whisper.

Rada couldn't stop laughing for a moment, but then she leaned closer to Scar. "It's from a song that I heard Jean Havoc sing. Let me see…how did it go?"

"I'm not sure I want to hear this."

Rada sang as softly as she could, " _Belinda was a chorus girl, she danced the hoochie cooch. She wasn't very modest and she didn't wear too mooch_ —"

"That's not even a word."

Rada waved her hand. "Shh! It won't rhyme otherwise."

"That matters?"

" _Her boss was very thirsty and he said, get me some beer! The hell with you! Belinda said, and kicked him in the rear!_ " Rada finished her verse with a satisfied smirk.

Scar considered his bride dubiously for a moment. "And what other kinds of debauchery are you getting involved in while I'm off governing, hmm?"

"Oh, nothing like what's in store for you tonight, I'm sure!" Rada replied archly.

Scar hung his head. "Where did my loving, virtuous wife go?"

Rada reached out and stroked his cheek, even though she still giggled. "I'm still here. Winry asked you to keep an eye on Edward, didn't she?"

Scar nodded. "I have to keep him from making a complete ass of himself and ruining his own wedding. He could easily find other ways to do that, but I will have done what I could."

Rada's mischievous look returned. "So you're not just going for the dancing girls?"

"No one said anything about dancing girls," Scar replied firmly. "But if there are any, I'm leaving and I'm taking Edward with me, even if I have to drag him by his ponytail."

............................................................................................................................................................

The hired wagon rumbled through downtown Resembool. It was not exactly a teeming metropolis, but it boasted of a few nice hotels. They did booming business during the sheep shearing festival in the spring and the harvest festival in the fall. Later in the evening, the wagon that was still back at the Rockbell house would be taking the remaining wedding guests to their hotels, where eager staffs were anticipating a welcome surge of off-season business. The town also had a couple of good taverns, which tended to have good business all year. They were heading for one such establishment, where a large upstairs room had been reserved for the occasion.

The driver of the wagon would drop them off, but he wasn't planning on staying around too long. He had a family to get back to. Those who were returning to the Rockbell house at the end of the evening would have to walk. It was not, fortunately, too far, and the round moon that was just coming up behind the distant hills promised to be a bright one.

The wagon was crowded with cheerful revelers. Well, not all of them were cheerful. Scar wasn't, but he wasn't the cheerful type anyway and he certainly wasn't going to act like a fool for anyone's benefit. Edward was trying to appear cheerful but seemed a little nervous under the surface. He might have felt more at ease if Alphonse had joined them, but the younger Elric had begged off. Besides, the legal drinking age in Amestris was eighteen, and Alphonse had another year to go.

Roy, who had come up with this idea in the first place, was not particularly cheerful. This was his first night out on the town since his daughter was born, and if the fennel seed tea hadn't worked like a charm on Christina's colic, he might still be back at the Rockbell house. But his evening of male-oriented festivities had gotten a kink thrown in it by the presence of Major General Armstrong, who had insisted on coming. She told Shua that if he tried to leave her behind at the "hen house," as she called it, she would beat him with the flat of her saber.

Shua boasted that he could beat her in a fight, fair or dirty—preferably dirty—any day of the week, and as much fun as that would be, he would rather go out drinking with her. They were maintaining a long-distance marriage, and they had to make good use of their time together. At the moment, they sat up toward the front of the wagon, singing a popular but vaguely off-color song. They were joined by Miles, Havoc, Dejan, Damyan, a couple of the young men from Dejan's group, and Ling, who didn't know the song but was making a brave attempt. Even Dr. Marcoh, who hadn't done much of this sort of thing in his youth and seemed to be trying to make up for lost time, was singing along.

Perched on an edge of the wagon was Lan Fan. Due to her obligation as a guard for the Yao clan, she was also coming, keeping close to Emperor Ling, who was already dangerously giddy with the sprightly company and the prospect of free food and drink. So there were actually two women present.

So Roy sulked a little. Scar thought he was being childish, but he didn't care enough to say so. He figured on putting in about two hours of this, at which time he would collar Edward and take him home, kicking and screaming if necessary.

The wagon pulled up under the sign of The Laughing Ram Tavern. Across the ground floor of this genial establishment were large windows revealing tables of patrons and casting a warm, bright light on the sidewalk. Scar was fairly impressed, having expected a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Shua clapped his hands together and rubbed them. "I like it already!" he announced. "Nice choice, Brigadier!"

Even Roy was looking cheerier at the sight of such a welcoming place. "It came highly recommended," he said. He went on with a somewhat sly smile. "As soon as I spoke to the proprietor, I was completely sold."

"Oh? Why's that?" Havoc asked.

Roy headed for the double-door entrance. "You'll see."

The interior, which was somewhat narrow but quite long, lived up to the promise of the exterior. The hum of voices, punctuated by occasional bursts of good-natured laughter, joined with the clatter of cutlery. Along the row of windows were round tables with up to eight chairs crowded around them, most of them full. Across the opposite wall, running nearly its entire length, was a well-stocked bar of polished copper and brass and warmly glowing wood. Topped with dark red leather seats, every barstool was occupied. Four hardy young women bustled back and forth through a set of swinging doors, maneuvering through the space between the bar with trays laden with food. Another four hefted orders of beer, gripping at least three mugs in each hand by their handles. Above all this hung two rows of stained glass swag lamps, casting a golden glow over the whole room.

Havoc let out a whimper. "I think I've died and gone to heaven!"

Scar lifted an eyebrow. He was fairly certain that Ishvala's bosom did not resemble a bustling tavern, but Amestrians' ideas of eternal rest were not his, obviously.

His vigilance having been momentarily lulled, Scar suddenly tensed. Their entrance was causing something of a stir, partly because they numbered a sizeable group, but also because over half of them were Ishvalans. It was still a rare sight in larger cities, let alone a small town like Resembool. But the interest seemed to be simply curiosity rather than hostility. Since Dejan and his fellow musicians had come in carrying their instrument cases—which they never seemed to part from—they might have been mistaken for the evening's entertainment. The patrons also marveled at the young Xingese man clad in yellow silk, accompanied by a mysterious masked bodyguard with an automail arm. But as soon as Edward was spotted, he became the main focus. Many of the patrons called out congratulations, and some of them grabbed his hand to shake as he passed by them.

Roy strode across the room toward the bar. There were several smartly groomed bartenders busily mixing cocktails and pulling beer taps on large oak barrels. There was also a comfortably plump woman with gently greying curls who was chatting with a couple of the patrons sitting at one end of the bar. She looked up as the group approached and turned to lift a section of the bar counter to step through.

"General Mustang?" she asked.

"That's me," Roy replied, holding out his hand. "Mrs. Daveys?"

"Yes, that's right!" the woman replied cheerfully, shaking Roy's hand. "Bron's upstairs with some of your fellows that came earlier. Just this way!"

Mrs. Daveys made a sharp turn to her right, where there was a set of stairs. As Roy followed her, Olivier moved up closer to him.

"Bron Daveys?" she demanded. " _Bronson Daveys?_ "

Roy nodded, his smile growing with apparent satisfaction. "The one and only." He looked over his shoulder at Olivier with a smug expression. "Caught you by surprise, didn't I?"

Olivier glowered at him. "You just got lucky."

"Bron Daveys!" Miles echoed in awe. " _Shehai li Ishvala!_ "

Scar looked back and forth at them as they started up the stairs. "Who is Bron Daveys?"

"Only the most feared man at the Military Academy!" Havoc replied. He shook his head. "It took me a long time to stop having nightmares about him."

Roy turned to look down at the others climbing the stairs behind him. "I'd heard he was originally from Resembool, so it's no surprise that he retired here."

"Well, as you can see," Mrs. Daveys called over her shoulder, "he didn't exactly retire."

"That didn't answer my question," Scar said.

"He was the senior drill sergeant," Miles told him, "and the terror of every cadet that went through that facility."

"He liked me," Olivier muttered.

They reached a landing at the top of the stairs, and this opened up into a spacious room filled with a group of round tables. There was already a group of people, either standing or sitting, and they turned as the newcomers arrived. One of them, whose back had been to the door, turned abruptly, and Roy froze.

He was a tall, imposing figure with a full head of dark grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Wiry brows stuck out over a pair of piercing blue eyes, and these eyes pinned Roy to the spot he stood on with a menacing glower.

"Drop and give me fifty, Mustang!" the man suddenly bellowed.

Roy flinched, his knees buckling slightly at the commanding tone, then he collected himself and a slightly embarrassed smile grew on his face. The man threw his head back and laughed. Then he saluted.

"Welcome to my humble establishment, Brigadier!" he declared.

Roy returned the salute, then held out his hand. "It's hardly humble, Sarge."

"Well, neither am I," Bron replied, gripping Roy's hand. Every time he spoke, it was in a loud voice. He looked over the group gathering in the doorway and waved them forward. "Come along, come along! Front and center! Havoc, as I live and breathe!" he cried. "I'd have sworn you'd've shot yourself by now—Oh!" He spread out his hands when he saw Olivier. "Major General!" He actually softened his voice a little in amazement and admiration. "I knew _you'd_ go places!"

"Hello, Sarge," Olivier replied, her voice actually warm. She shook his proffered hand. "I'd like you to meet my husband, Sh—"

"Your what?" Bron blurted out. He gave a little sheepish grimace. "Sorry!"

Shua thrust out his hand. "Shua. Just Shua. Member of Parliament for Ishval. And I can vouch for the fact that the major general has, in fact, gone places," he added with a wink.

Bron chuckled deeply but wisely did not pursue this line of conversation. He turned to the rest of the group and drew in a quick breath, extending his hand. "Miles!" He clasped hands with the Ishvalan colonel.

"Good to see you again, Sarge," Miles said.

Bron looked around at the other alumni and shook his finger at Miles. "This one should've been top of his class! Outshone everyone! But those bastards in the superintendent's back pocket had their heads up their asses!" He shook his head. "Damn, that whole Ishvalan thing really soured me! What a bitch!"

Scar was inclined to agree with him, but not, perhaps, for the reasons the former sergeant might have.

Bron turned back to Roy. "Hey, Mustang, you remember that feller who was in your class? Heathcliff—aw, what was his name?"

He scratched his head as though that might stir up his memory. After a few moments, Roy replied quietly, "Heathcliff Arber."

Scar flinched as Bron snapped his fingers. "That's the one! Heard he went AWOL when the war started." He shook his head with somber gravity. "Can't say I blame him."

Scar watched him intently for a moment. He remembered Heathcliff. He had been a couple of years below him in school, and Scar remembered how many of the children teased him because of his strange Amestrian name. Once Scar had finished school and gone on to study for the priesthood, he had little contact with him. Then he learned that Heathcliff had left to enter the Amestrian military academy. There were a number of Ishvalans who had, all hoping to elevate Ishvalans in Amestrian opinion. The only one who had survived to do so was Miles.

Heathcliff later returned to Ishval, angry, bitter, disillusioned, and wanted for desertion. He fought against the soldiers who should have been his comrades, and he was later found on a rooftop with a bullet in his head. The other bodies on the rooftop had been burned.

Scar looked over at Roy, who met his eyes for a single bleak moment before looking away. "I don't blame him either," Roy murmured.

His good humor quickly restored, Bron turned to Scar and held out his hand. "Heard you were in town!" he said with brisk courtesy. "It's an honor, sir!"

A little surprised, Scar took his hand. "I'm glad you think so."

"Damn right!" Bron declared. "I read that stuff in the paper a couple of months ago, y'know? You remember that story, Meg?" he called over to his wife.

"Of course I do!" Mrs. Daveys replied, bustling up to her husband's side. "I always keep up on what Mrs. Bradley's up to. What's she like?" she asked Scar eagerly. "Is she nice? What a thrill that must have been!"

A thrill was not exactly how Scar would have described his experience, but Mrs. Bradley was indisputably a good woman. "She's a good woman," he replied truthfully.

Everyone had managed to get in through the door, and Ling went up to Bron.

"Hello!" he exclaimed cheerfully, grabbing Bron's hand and pumping it. "I'm Ling Yao! I like your place! The food smells great!"

"Well, thanks," Bron replied, looking him up and down. "You…uh…visiting from foreign parts?"

"That's right!" Ling nodded. "I'm the emperor of Xing!"

Bron stared at him, then looked around at the others with a perplexed, dubious look. Roy shrugged. "He really is, Sarge. He's just out slumming."

"Oh…uh…okay." Bron turned back to Ling. "Uh…well, I hope you have a good time, your…uh…Highness."

"Thanks!" Ling replied. "Actually, I'm here for Ed and Winry's wedding. Wouldn't have missed that for the world!"

"Well, who would?" Bron agreed. He finally turned to the guest of honor. "And there's the lucky little sod himself!"

"Yeah, that's me," Ed sighed, giving him a weak wave of his hand. "Hey, Mr. Daveys."

"Well, don't just stand there!" Bron swept out his arm to indicate the room. "Everybody make yourselves comfortable and we'll get things started!"

The company had started to mingle, and a booming voice called across the room. "Sister!" Alex plowed through the other guests toward her. "Brother dear!"

Olivier cringed. "Oh, balls!" she snarled.

Shua squeezed her shoulders. "Be nice, love," he muttered back.

"That's your job!" Olivier hissed back. "I'm off duty— _ooh_!"

Alex had swept the two of them in a Grade A Prime embrace. "You know, Alex," Shua said in a slightly strangled voice, "we just saw you a week ago."

"Which makes this reunion that much sweeter!" Alex declared.

"Let go of me, you moron!" Olivier growled.

Unperturbed, Alex released them and stepped back, wiping a tear from his eye. "I'm so happy to be here!"

Shua patted him on the shoulder. "So am I, Alex."

Scar moved between the tables and the groups of old friends who were reuniting. Havoc was hugging Breda, moving on to two other men, one tall and fair-haired, the other shorter and younger with glasses. Scar exchanged a cordial nod with Breda, whom he hadn't seen since he had been elected governor and the second lieutenant had returned to Mustang's inner circle. Jerso and Zampano were guffawing loudly with Dejan.

Scar endured an embrace from Alex Armstrong, someone with whom he could find no fault. Mustang had once told him of the circumstances that led the major to give up his role in the Ishvalan war, and Scar could only respect the man not just for his moral fortitude, but for what he must have suffered by being considered a coward.

There seemed to be no precedence as far as the seating arrangement, but Scar figured that he should probably be close to Edward so he could keep an eye on him. The young man was still circulating around the room and didn't seem to be preparing to sit down. He would probably be joined by those who were fonder of him than Scar was. As long as he had a clear view of him, that would be sufficient.

"We ought to sit together!"

Scar turned to the voice at his elbow and found Ling there. Scar wasn't too particular. "If you like."

"We're both nobility, after all," Ling went on. "And I know we didn't end up being related, but we could be!" he said with a bright smile.

Scar frowned slightly. "How?"

"Well, I couldn't help noticing that your daughter is a lovely child," Ling said. "When do Ishvalan girls come of age?"

Emperor or not, Scar riveted the young man with a look of grave menace. "No."

Ling looked surprised and perplexed. "But I haven't even—"

"No."

"She'd be—"

"No."

"Well, what if—"

"No."

Although she had been keeping to the outer periphery of the gathering, not considering herself as one of the guests, Lan Fan took this moment to loom up behind her emperor.

"Young Lord!" she hissed from behind her mask. "He said no! Our customs are not their customs! You must respect that!"

Ling let out a melodramatic sigh and rolled his eyes. "Oh, all right! It was worth a try." He immediately brightened. "Let me know if you change your mind!" he said to Scar.

"The sun will set for the last time and the world will see the end of days before I will change my mind, your Majesty," Scar replied somberly.

"Oh, come on!" Ling gave him a friendly punch in the arm. "Don't go all formal on me! It's Ling, remember?" Then, against his own advice, he suddenly grew serious. "Xing and Ishval have historically been friends, and even though your people are seeing less glorious days than they once did, that doesn't diminish your glory in the eyes of Xing."

Scar stared at him for a moment in astonishment. He glanced at Lan Fan to see if she had heard the same thing he had, but her mask covered her face. Her stance was composed and relaxed, though, rather than tensed to spring. She must have approved. "I…thank you!"

Ling's grin returned. "My pleasure!" He moved away, waving at Scar to follow him. "Come on! Let's go grab a table! I'm starving!"

As he walked away, Scar watched the young emperor with a new found respect.

He still wouldn't let him marry his daughter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of got away from me and borders on crack. Also, I don't really know that much about alcohol and I would like to thank the contributors at Wikipedia for their tireless research.

As it turned out, Scar ended up at the same table as Ed, since Ling had dragged him there. The tables were set with crisp white tablecloths and napkins, as well as two different sizes of stemmed glasses. The other occupants were Roy at Ed's left, then Shua, Olivier, and Miles. Scar, then Ling, completed the company. The other table to one side comprised Havoc, Dejan, Damyan, Breda, and the two other Amestrians, whose names, Scar had gathered, were Falman and Fuery. At the remaining table sat Alex Armstrong, Dr. Marcoh, Afrim and Vesar from Dejan's ensemble, another young Amestrian named Denny, who seemed hugely pleased to be here, and Jerso and Zampano, who were happy to be anywhere. It was all very festive and friendly, and Scar felt that he ought to be able to relax, despite not really wanting to be here.

Bron and his wife had gone downstairs to check on their other customers. In the meantime, a couple of young men came up the stairs and into the room, each with a large beer keg which they carried over to a bar counter at the opposite end of the room, a smaller version of the one downstairs but no less well-equipped. A moment later, one of the bar maids from downstairs came bustling up, her movements followed by several pairs of appreciative masculine eyes. She could only be described as a buxom wench in the best sense of the word. Scar surprised himself by even thinking in such terms, but he was sure Rada would want a full report of what went on. She would be merciless but affectionate in her teasing. At least he had that to look forward to.

The bar maid want up to Ed's table. "Hello, boys!" she greeted. She gave a brisk nod to Olivier. "Ma'am!" She bent a little at the waist and her bright blue eyes searched their faces expectantly. "What can I do you for?"

Scar considered asking her to stand up straight so her cleavage wasn't quite so obvious, but that would probably go dangerously against the spirit of the occasion. He was about to ask for some water, but Roy spoke up first.

"A round of your local brew for starters!" he exclaimed expansively.

Scar was about to object, but Roy's statement was met with appreciative cheers from the other tables, so he figured he might as well just go along with it for now. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a slightly apprehensive look in Ed's face, but the young man quickly hid it behind a game smile. Well, if they could both simply nurse their pints for a while, at least one of them would get through this evening with a more or less clear head.

"Right!" The girl gave a brisk nod. "Pints of the best all round!"

She started to turn away when Shua reached out and caught hold of her wrist. He gave her one of his grins and slipped his hand down from her wrist to her hand and gave it a little squeeze. "What's your name, love? If you're going to be plying us with liquor and gracing us with your charming company, I'd rather call you something better than 'miss'."

The bar maid dimpled back at him. "It's Lori."

"Well, Lori," Shua continued, "I'd like to thank you ahead of time for taking such good care of us. Mr. Daveys is as fine a tavern keeper as I've seen, and I've seen a lot, but he doesn't have half your delightful assets." He patted her hand. "But I guess you hear that all the time."

Lori gave him a shrewd look. "I've heard a thing or two," she replied, but her smiled showed that she was still flattered. "Whatever you folks need, you just let me know, all right?"

Havoc's hand shot up. "How about some dancing girls?" he cried out eagerly.

While most of the other guests cheered their agreement, Scar groaned inwardly. _They can't be serious_. He wasn't encouraged by the thoughtful look Lori had on her face.

"Hmm…" she mused. "Dancing girls, huh? Well, I bet Miss Ovine of sixty-three still has a few high kicks in her."

Havoc looked blank. "Miss Who? Sixty-three what?"

"Eighteen sixty-three," Lori replied. "That's when she won the title of Queen of the Sheep Shearing Festival. She blew everybody over in the talent competition with her dancing, from what I hear. Pretty daring for the time, too. Nobody's quite topped that since. She still toddles around pretty well. Want me to give her a call?"

"Uh…no…thanks anyway."

"Well then, I'll get your pints." Lori strode across the room to the bar, most of the men following the swish of her skirt.

"Nice girl," Shua remarked, then caught the eyebrow that Olivier was lifting at him. He shook his head. "It's not flirting, love, it's a matter of survival."

"Explain that one to me," Olivier challenged.

"While on my travels," Shua said, "whenever I came to a new town, I'd go straight for the likeliest looking tavern and make friends with the landlord or, better yet, the bar maids. They have the best idea of what's going on in town, whether the place is worth staying in or if it's better to move on."

"You know something, Shua," Olivier said, propping her chin on her hand and considering her husband, her smirk turned thoughtful. "You're like an onion."

Shua frowned at her a moment, then took a quick whiff of his armpit. "Sorry! Do I smell?"

Olivier rolled her eyes a little. "I mean that I keep peeling off layers and there's something new underneath."

"Oh! Well…" Shua leaned closer to her with a low, wicked laugh. "Peel a couple of layers off me right now! I dare you!"

Olivier shoved him away. "You idiot!" she growled, but with a hint of laughter behind it.

"Shua," Miles said. "If someone's going to strip for us, I'd kind of rather it wasn't you."

Shua just shrugged. "I can dance, you know."

"I don't care."

"There were dancing girls at my coronation," Ling put in blithely. "They did a dance with fans. It was very entertaining."

Havoc twisted around in his chair. "Fan dancers?" he cried eagerly. "You had fan dancers?"

Roy laughed. "I don't think they're the kind you're thinking about, Havoc."

Ling looked back and forth at them with curiosity. "What kind is he talking about?"

"The naked kind," Roy informed him.

Ling's jaw dropped. Ed's eyes widened. Scar, who hadn't even drunk anything yet, just wanted to cradle his head.

"Madame Christmas ran a small cabaret show at one of her establishments," Roy went on. "It was actually very tasteful. I…um…helped with the lighting," he added with a somewhat smug grin.

Havoc gazed at him with a superbly envious look. "You…lucky…bastard!"

"I hope you two remember that you're married," Scar remarked sternly.

Roy gave him a pitying, exasperated look, then turned toward the bar along the other wall. "Hey, Lori, this man needs a drink!"

"Coming right up, gentlemen!" Lori called back, wrapping her hands around several pint mug handles and carrying them to the tables.

"I do not _need_ a drink," Scar muttered.

"Yes, you do," Roy replied. He gestured at Scar. "Seriously, do you ever do anything fun? Got any hobbies?"

"He makes babies," Miles offered.

Scar shot him a dour look, then did the same to Edward when he snickered.

Lori expertly deposited seven mugs onto the table. "There you go, folks!"

Shua raised his hands. "Ah, Lori! You're an artist!"

Lori just gave a little dismissive flip of her hand as she went off to get the other mugs. "Just takes practice."

Miles took the mug closest to him and pushed another one in front of Scar. "We're all keenly aware that we're married, Andakar. That's why we're here. Drink up."

Scar gave him a narrow, skeptical look. "You're here because you're married?"

After taking a long draw from his beer, Miles nodded. "Exactly. Am I right, Brigadier?"

"Absolutely," Roy agreed readily.

Scar crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, his beer untouched. He glanced over at Roy, then back at Miles. "Your logic eludes me."

"We're here," Roy began, giving Edward a clap on the back just as the younger man had raised his mug to his lips. As much of his face as would fit was suddenly submerged in beer, and some of the liquid was spattered onto the table. "We're here to initiate this young man into the splendors of matrimony!"

"Oh? I thought that was Winry's job," Scar remarked drily.

A chorus of deep oohs arose from each table. Edward froze in the middle of wiping ale off his face, which began to turn rather red.

Scar ignored the glare Ed gave him. "I also thought you all came here to get stupidly drunk."

Roy looked shocked. "What? No! Not at all! We have a responsibility, don't we, Colonel?"

Miles gave a solemn nod. "We do indeed."

"The responsibility of getting stupidly drunk belongs to those in our party who aren't married," Roy went on, to which the single men cheered.

"Fine," Scar conceded, although he wasn't buying it for a second. "So where does that put Edward?"

"In the hot seat!" Havoc burst out, and each table exploded with raucous laughter.

Scar frowned over at Edward, who sat like a lamb anticipating slaughter but was trying to make a manly effort of it. He almost felt sorry for him. He then turned to Olivier, hoping somehow that as a commander of men and the possessor of the kind of feminine practicality and restraint that most men were hopeless at, he could appeal to her to rise above this sort of behavior.

She caught his look and seemed to guess its meaning. Setting an empty glass on the table before her, she let out a quiet belch. "Don't look at me," she said. "I just came to get plastered."

It was fairly obvious that this gathering had gone straight for The Ridiculous without giving The Sublime a moment's consideration. Out of a feeling of resignation, Scar picked up the mug in front of him and downed several swallows of its contents. The others at the table cheered. Considering the influential positions most of them held, it was a mercy that there was no national crisis occurring at the time.

On the other hand, the beer was surprisingly good. When Lori brought another round, she mentioned that it was locally brewed and had won top honors at the county fair year after year. Scar supposed he could manage another.

Bron came in to check on them and to let them know that their dinner would be up shortly. Everyone agreed that they were being well taken care of.

"Lori is a wonderful girl!" Shua said to Bron. "I'm tempted to adopt her."

Olivier's glass paused at her lips and arched an eyebrow at him. "Oh? First I've heard of it."

"I said _tempted_ , love. The only temptation I can't resist is you." Shua wrapped an arm around her shoulders and leaned closer to her. "You know you're my favorite vice."

Olivier lifted her lip and replied with a soft, affectionate growl.

Ed stared uncertainly at the couple and Shua pointed his finger at him. "Here's a marriage tip for you, young Elric! Always maintain an element of danger."

Olivier nodded in agreement. "Keep a knife under your pillow."

"And some rope," Shua added with a broad wink.

Roy rolled his eyes and let out a groan. "Sarge! Quick! We need some harder liquor!"

"Of course we do," Scar muttered.

Miles gave him a sharp nudge with his elbow.

"Certainly, gentlemen," Bron replied. "What's your poison?"

Roy turned to Ed. "You're the golden boy tonight. What'll you have?"

Ed just shrugged. "Beer's fine," he said.

"Yes, of course beer is fine," Roy agreed patiently. "But you're a big boy now, and it's time to move up."

Ed took a tighter grip on the handle of his mug. "I like beer," he insisted with as much conviction as he could muster.

Roy ignored him. "Let's have a couple of bottles of Golden Mark, Sarge! Make it three. One for each table."

Bron whistled. "You've got some pretty highbrow taste in whiskey, Mustang." He put on a mock-ominous expression. "I'll have to go down to the vault. Oh!" he added as he was turning to leave. "I've got a few bottles of some Ishvalan stuff that I picked up from a distributor a little north of here. Your old man, as a matter of fact!" he called to Havoc, who stood up and bowed.

"Oh, Ishvala!" Shua exclaimed. "My _sholmi_! It's still making the rounds?"

Bron lifted his wiry brows in surprise. "Yours?"

Shua nodded. "Aged seven years in oak barrels, buried deep in Ishval's holy soil." He reached around Olivier to shove Miles' shoulder. "Remember that day, Miles? First day I met you!"

"I'm never going to forget it," Miles replied drily. "I was sure you'd be trouble. I was right."

"Ah, but only the best kind of trouble!" Shua assured him. He looked up at Bron. "Bring us up a bottle, Mr. Daveys!"

Bron hesitated. "I suppose since you're the one who made it, I ought to give you a discount or something."

Shua waved his hand quickly. "Oh, no! Not at all! You paid the markup fair and square and you need to make a return on it. I'm just happy to be able to taste it one more time."

"Fair enough!" Bron said as he headed for the door. "I'll bring it right up!"

Ling propped his chin on his hand and his look grew wistful. "I suppose it's too much to hope for that he has any _jiang xiang_ ," he sighed.

Shua snorted in disgust. "Oh, please! _Feng xiang_ is better by far! _Jiang xiang_ smells like my auntie's goat!"

Ling retorted in Xingese, something that might have translated as _you smell like your auntie's goat_. Shua shot something back in the same language, and they proceeded to engage in what appeared to be a duel of insults. It was lost on everyone else but was somehow highly entertaining. Ling and Shua were finally overcome with helpless laughter at their own cleverness.

Bron reappeared with the necks of two bottles gripped in each hand. As Lori provided each table with shot glasses, Bron distributed the whiskey. Roy opened the bottle, which Scar noticed was the same brand as what he had shared with Pinako earlier that day. He would not be averse to some of that.

Bron set the bottle of _sholmi_ in front of Shua, who picked it up to examine the label. Within a gold foil border was a comical representation of a jackal howling at a full moon.

He held it up to show to Olivier. "Vesya drew that as a joke. It's supposed to be me after I've had a few."

Olivier smirked at the picture. "I thought it looked familiar."

Shua unscrewed the cap and poured himself a shot. Swallowing it, he closed his eyes blissfully. Then he tipped his head back and let out an ululating howl. He laughed and looked around the table, holding up the bottle. "Anybody else?"

Scar shook his head. Despite his fierce loyalty to his people and all things Ishvalan, he thought _sholmi_ was revolting. "No, thanks." He pushed a shot glass toward Roy, who grinned and poured whiskey into it.

Shua gave Scar a pitying look and muttered something in Ishvalan. He proceeded to pour a little _sholmi_ into the remaining glasses, then he leaned out of his chair, holding out the bottle toward the neighboring table. "Alex! Here! Pass this around, but make it last! It's gonna be another five years before the next batch is ready."

Being an acquired taste, the reactions were varied, with a few exclamations of disgust. Ling gave a shudder and made another disparaging comment in Xingese. Shua replied smoothly, to which Ling burst into high-pitched laughter.

With a look of deep suspicion, Ed brought his glass to his lips and gingerly took a sip. His face twisted into a grimace. "Oh, that's _vile_!" he blurted out, setting the glass down.

"Here," Roy said, taking the glass. "I'll finish it for you."

"Help yourself," Ed muttered. "I guess it's an Ishvalan thing."

"Nonsense!" Roy replied. He pointed to the other table. "Look at Falman over there. It's like mother's milk to him." As Ed turned his head away to look, Roy tipped the _sholmi_ into Ed's beer.

Ed turned back, unimpressed and none the wiser. He picked up his mug. "Like I said. Beer's fine."

Roy winked at Scar, who had watched the entire process with a furrowed brow but made no comment. After a glass and a half of heady beer and a few swallows of Golden Mark, he was beginning to not care.

Dinner was brought up, a feast of roast lamb, which was accompanied by several bottles of red wine.

"Aerugan Aglianico!" Roy exclaimed in amazement as soon as he saw the label. "Sarge, you're a genius!"

Bron just gave a derisive snort as he poured some of the garnet-colored wine into Roy's glass. "You're only just figurin' that out?"

Roy took a sip and held it in his mouth, savoring it before swallowing it. He shook his head. "Bronson Daveys, I take back every bad thing I ever said about you behind your back."

"Oh, really?" Bron proceeded to fill the other glasses. "Like what?"

"Well, during my second year, as soon as I found out you were from Resembool, I started calling you 'The Sheep Worrier.'"

"Ha!" Bron laughed triumphantly. "You didn't start that, Mustang! She beat you to it!" He pointed in Olivier's direction.

Roy's mouth fell open. "No!"

"'Fraid so."

Olivier smirked at Roy. "You have to get up pretty damn early to pull one over on me."

Roy shrugged dismissively. "You have the advantage of _several_ years on me, I'll grant you that."

Olivier's hand went instinctively to her hip where the hilt of her saber would be if she'd brought it with her.

Shua calmly patted her arm. "I'll handle this, love." He turned to Roy. "Listen, Brigadier. Nothing beats a bit of mellowing. It's like this very excellent wine here." He picked up his glass. "Now this is a slightly more mature vintage, which makes it superior to something younger. The acids are more balanced, letting the sweetness come through."

Olivier sat back and smiled with satisfaction. "My hero," she murmured.

Roy raised an eyebrow. "Well, I prefer something a little fresher with a little more bite to it."

"And I bet you've got the teeth marks on your ass to prove it."

"Something that's been sitting around too long can turn into vinegar, you know."

"Not with proper handling."

" _Sheep worrier!_ " Ed suddenly burst out in loud, tipsy laughter.

All three tables fell silent and everyone stared at him. He looked around at them with a goofy smile on his face and snickered. "I got it!"

As the others laughed, decidedly at Ed, not with him, Bron shook his head as he resumed his wine pouring. "You really make this town proud, Elric."

The dinner was excellent and the wine paired well with the lamb. Scar indulged in a second glass of wine, keeping conscious of its effects. It had the added benefit of taking the edge off Edward's irritating giggle. After a while, Dejan and his musicians, joined by Shua, brought out their instruments and started playing. Bron came back up the stairs to listen briefly, then he disappeared. He returned with an accordion strapped to his shoulders, much to the delight of the other musicians.

"Sweet Ishvala, Bron!" Shua cried. "Is there nothing you can't do?"

Bron's fingers danced up and down the keyboard. "Not much!" he replied.

He joined straight into the Ishvalan tunes, then started up on one of his own. "How about the old school song?" he called out to the military academy alumni.

The Amestrians all began a rousing chorus, bawdy in nature, with many verses that grew bawdier as they progressed. The Ishvalans joined in, making an interesting accompaniment. At one point, they were on the verge of running out of verses, but Dejan quickly made up for the deficiency by improvising new ones, sending the company into gales of laughter. Before Scar realized it, a laugh escaped his lips.

Miles jumped to his feet, raising his fist in the air. "We did it!" he cried. "We cracked the Eastern Wall of Ishval!"

Not that they needed much of a reason, but this released yet another round of loud cheering. Scar grabbed Miles' arm and pulled him back down into his chair.

"Sit down!" he growled. "You're drunk!"

"So are you!"

"I am not!"

"Like hell!" Miles pointed to Scar's half full wineglass. "That's your fourth, you know."

Scar stared at it. "No, it isn't!"

"It is too!" Miles chuckled. "Mustang's been refilling it, and you've been too drunk to notice." He nodded toward Edward. "Look at him! He's been drinking boilermakers all evening and he doesn't even know it."

Scar looked over at Ed and suddenly grew alarmed. The cloudiness that had insinuated itself into his head began to clear as he watched the young Amestrian lean back in his chair, helpless with frantic laughter and apparently unable to lift his head.

Scar dug into his pocket and pulled out a watch. It was a recent gift to him from Rada for their second anniversary, and he still had a tendency to forget he had it. He stared at the hands on the watch face for a moment, but the second hand was, in fact, moving. He was shocked to see that it had just turned midnight.

_When did that happen?_

Scar rose to his feet, slipping his watch back in his pocket. "Get up, Fullmetal!" he called to Ed. "It's time to go home!"

This was met with a childish chorus of boos, which Scar ignored. Despite being nearly oblivious to what was going on, Ed finally got his head up and cried out, "Boo! You stink! Get off the stage!"

Roy stared up at Scar. "You can't take him away yet!" he cried, his outrage markedly slurred. "We haven't given him all our marital advice!"

"One for every day of the week!" Ling declared bravely. He stared for a moment at the outstretched fingers on one hand, then squinted uncertainly at his other hand as he slowly raised three fingers. "That's…uh…"

Ling wasn't his problem, and Lan Fan had already slipped off the windowsill where she had been keeping watch. Scar moved behind Ed's chair. "None of you are in any condition to be handing out wisdom."

He pulled at Ed's chair, but Ed grabbed the edge of the table. "No! I don't wanna go home!"

"It's not your decision anymore."

Scar clamped his hands around Ed's upper arms and tried to pull him to his feet, but Ed clamped onto the seat of his chair and it was lifted along with him. This was extremely funny to everyone else and they cheered Ed's efforts.

Undaunted by either Ed's resistance or everyone's else's lack of cooperation, Scar used a trick he'd begun using on Mattas when he wouldn't let go of something. He grasped Ed under the armpits.

Ed snickered and wriggled like an eel. "Stop it! That tickles!"

He let go of the chair and Scar lifted him up. He tried to set Ed on his feet, but the young man refused to unbend his knees. It was cute when Mattas did it, but Ed was supposed to be an adult and Scar had little patience with him at the best of times. So he dropped him.

Ed landed on his backside and sat stunned for a moment while the sensation traveled with agonizing slowness from his buttocks to his skull. "Ow," he remarked.

"You can walk out of here on your own two feet," Scar told him curtly, "or over my shoulder."

Ed grumbled ungraciously and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. Scar began to steer him toward the door, but Ed shrugged out of his grip. "I've got this!" he snarled.

"Thank Ishvala for that!" Scar muttered.

Everyone cried out their farewells. "So long, Ed!" Roy called after him. "See you tomorrow!"

"It is tomorrow," Scar reminded him as he followed Ed out the door and catching him as he nearly stumbled on the first step.

It was going to be a long walk back.


	7. Chapter 7

Even at the lowest ebb of his life, bleeding, disfigured, rage-filled, desperate, Scar did not think he could descend any lower.

No, that was a shameful exaggeration, and he knew he would think better of it come morning. But to be obliged to escort home Edward Elric, of all people, in a state of drunkenness, of all things, was an indignity he never dreamed he would be called upon to suffer.

He wasn't doing this for Edward, he had to remind himself. He was doing this for Winry, who would probably be disappointed. Scar cursed himself again for his lack of vigilance. He could clearly hear his master's admonishment, one that hadn't even been directed at him at the time: too much strong drink can rob a perfectly reasonable man of his proper senses. He was very glad Bozidar was not here to see this.

The streets of Resembool were nearly deserted at this time of night, or morning, rather. The only other person they came across was a policeman walking his beat. Scar was managing to maintain a steady, straight course, but Ed was obviously weaving. The policeman paused and nodded to them as they entered the circle of light cast by a streetlamp.

"'Evening, folks," he said, his voice at once cordial and guarded. Then he recognized who he was talking to. "Oh, hey there, Edward!" He grinned. "Been out celebrating, I see."

"Uh…yeah…" Edward began, then he suddenly flung his arm out to point at Scar, knocking himself off balance. Even as Scar caught him before he fell over backwards, he cried, "This guy kidnapped me! He's dangerous!"

Scar tensed. He was, after all, a stranger here. Edward was the one who seemed to be acquainted with everyone in town. How likely was he to be believed?

Not very, it turned out. The policeman chuckled. "I dunno, Ed. Seems to me you're more of a danger to yourself right now. I passed by The Laughing Ram a while ago and I could hear an awful lot of singing and carrying on upstairs. Must have been quite a party."

"Yeah, it was!" Ed agreed. "And he"—he waved his hand around, trying to figure out where Scar was so he could point at him—"he dragged me outta there!"

"Seems like not a moment too soon, neither," the policeman replied. He addressed himself to Scar, who seemed to be the responsible party of the two. "You gonna make it okay? You sure you don't wanna stay the night in town?"

"No, we'll be all right," Scar replied. "I promised he'd be home by tonight."

"Who'd you promise?" Ed demanded, pushing himself away from Scar.

"Winry. Your bride-to-be. Remember her?"

"'Course, I remember!" Ed snapped. He hunched up his shoulders and jammed his fists into the pockets of his overcoat. "Don't talk to me about Winry!" He stormed away unsteadily down the sidewalk, grumbling to himself.

"Well, sir." The policemen tapped his nightstick to the visor of his cap and moved on. "I'll let you catch up with him. Safe home!"

"Thank you," Scar replied, relieved to get away. He quickened his pace to catch up with Ed and fell in step with him. They walked along silently, passing darkened shop windows, moving in and out of the streetlamp light. Soon the buildings grew a little further apart, changing from shops and businesses to houses and cottages with fenced yards and gardens. These, too, began to thin out at they reached the open countryside and the last of the streetlamps.

The moon was nearly overhead, having just past its zenith, and its cool white light shone down through the winter night. It was chilly by southern standards, and their breath came out in thin, white vapor. Ed stumped along, every now and then nearly stumbling then catching himself. Scar strode along a few feet to his side, ready to catch him before he fell on his face. Or not.

All this time, neither of them had said a word, which was fine with Scar. All he wanted to do at this point was get Edward home and hand him over to Winry. He wasn't in the mood for idle conversation. It wasn't as if they had much in common. Well, there was alchemy, but that didn't exactly count. They were in a somewhat unique position of one of them being a devoted scholar of alchemy but unable to use it, while the other was able to perform alchemy but was reluctant to do so. Even when Edward was in Ishval, under Scar's very roof, they didn't talk to each other that much. If they were alone in the same room together, Ed always seemed vaguely uncomfortable. Most likely the boy had never quite let go of his lingering resentment. If he wanted to carry around that burden, he was welcome to it.

They walked along a straight stretch of road that had long since gone from being paved to being dirt. The road and the countryside around them were washed in monotonous grey that had an almost soporific effect. Walking was becoming something of an effort, but Scar disciplined himself to simply keep going. Ed, however, wasn't holding up so well. He finally slowed and stopped, bending down and leaning his hands on his knees, puffing with effort.

"Do you need to rest?"

Ed lifted one hand and waved. "Just a second! I'll be okay!" He stayed in this bowed position for several moments, swaying a little. Scar began to wonder if he had fallen asleep on his feet.

"Edward!" he said sharply.

Ed turned his head and glared up sideways at him. "What?" he snapped.

"The sooner we get back, the better. It's late, you're tired, I'm tired—"

"Hey, Scar!" Ed declared, straightening up. "When did—whoa!" He lurched backwards, his body having moved a little too quickly for his brain to catch up. He clutched his head and steadied himself, fixing Scar with a disgusted look. "When did you get so damn boring?"

Scar stared at him. "What?"

"Boring!" Ed nearly shouted. "Bor—ring! _Boooriiing!_ "

Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. Scar just shook his head and started walking again. "Come on, Fullmetal!" he growled. "Get moving!"

"Ha!" Ed bounced along beside him. "That's a little more like it! That's the Scar I remember!" He suddenly punched him in the arm.

Scar just waved his hand toward him as though shooing away a mosquito. "You're drunker than I thought."

"No, I'm not!" Ed took a fighting stance, bringing up his fists and hopping on the balls of his feet. "Come on! I bet I could take you! How 'bout a little sparring practice, huh?" He made a couple of feinting jabs with his right fist.

Scar watched him for a few moments, almost moved to pity. "You're acting like an idiot."

"Every time we fought we got interrupted, you realize that?" Ed crept stealthily around Scar, nearly tripping on his own feet at one point. "Just once, I'd like to finish what we started!"

He lunged toward Scar, who simply reached out and planted one hand against Ed's forehead. He had a longer reach, and Ed frantically swung his fists at him, never quite connecting.

"You dirty bastard!" Ed snarled, grunting with each swing. "Take…what's…coming…to…you!"

Scar sighed with strained patience. "The only thing that's coming to me right now is a headache. If I have to knock you unconscious and carry you home, I will."

"Ha! You can't catch me! I'm too quick!" Ed jumped back with what he probably thought was dazzling footwork, but he tripped and fell on his back. He lay on the ground for a moment, staring up at the night sky with a bewildered look on his face. Scar loomed up over him and he sucked in a frightened gasp, staring up at the Ishvalan.

Scar bent down. "If you associate duty and responsibility with being boring, then you still have a lot of growing up to do, Edward. And since you're getting married tomorrow—today—you'd better get started on that." He held out his hand. "Now get up!"

Edward stared back up at the sky, looking rather lost for a moment. Then he focused on Scar's hand and reached up to grasp it. Scar pulled him to his feet and held onto him for a moment while he regained his balance. Ed then began to walk back the way they came.

"This way." Scar took him by the shoulders and turned him around.

Ed stared at the road that stretched before them. "Where are we?"

"Roughly halfway between the town and Winry's house," Scar replied. "Which means we have to walk that much again to get back."

Ed moved forward with a bit more purpose to his walk, and he began to quicken his stride. Scar took this as a favorable sign that he was finally in a hurry to get home, and he matched his pace. They soon reached the low white rail fence that surrounded the cemetery. On the other side of the fence the rows of headstones shone pale in the moonlight. Ed paused to gaze out at the graves, then he jogged toward the opening in the fence. In this light, the graves looked much the same, and maneuvering between them was like running a maze. But Edward, although still a bit unsteady on his feet, seemed to know exactly where he was going.

Scar kept up with him, not wanting to lose him. Despite his apparent certainty, he could still trip and hit his head on a gravestone or fall into an open grave. Scar shook his head and allowed himself a small, grim smile. That was the father in him, instinctively anticipating everything a child could do to injure himself.

They came across the graves of Urey and Sara Rockbell, although the names could just barely be made out. As Ed skirted past them he pointed distractedly down at them.

"Don't forget your things!" he muttered.

Scar paused to collect the small brass bowls he had left there, shaking out the ashes from the incense and putting the bowls in his pocket. Ed had continued on, then he stopped, standing at a pair of headstones further on.

Scar joined him and looked down at the headstones. The one on the left marked this grave as the resting place of Tricia Elric. Its partner displayed the name Van Hohenheim. It seemed an odd time to visit the graves of one's parents. Ed stood still, gazing down at the graves, silent and intense, his breathing still a little labored.

Scar gave him a few moments for whatever display of respect or contemplation he was performing, but the night had already progressed to morning.

"Edward," he said finally, "we need to go."

Ed drew in a long, shuddering breath. "Duty and responsibility, huh?" he muttered bitterly. He shoved his fingers through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. "He—he did it to me again!" he blurted out. "To us!"

It wasn't difficult to guess who he was talking about. Scar would have urged the young man impatiently to get back on the road, but the pain in his voice kept him from doing so. Scar looked down at the headstone. He had not known Van Hohenheim long; their acquaintance lasted only a day. What he had learned of Hohenheim's story would have struck anyone as outlandish and incredible, but much of what he had experienced during those past many months could only be described in those terms, and it was all true. What was not incredible was the painful sacrifice the man made to save not just his family, but the entire country.

"What did he do?" Scar prompted Edward, hoping to speed this along just a little.

"He left!" Edward snapped. "He left! Just like the first time! He didn't say anything! He didn't say where he was going or what he was doing! He didn't even leave a damn note!" He shook his head slowly back and forth. "We—we won! We were all together! Me and Al and him! We could go home—and—and"—his voice broke and he sucked in a gasp of air—"and we could be a family again!" He ground the heels of his hands against his forehead. "But he left!" he cried. "And when we came home he—he—was dead!"

Ed bent over, trying to stifle his sobbing. This was not something Scar had expected, but it explained a lot. Loss was something he understood all too well.

He laid a hand on Ed's shoulder. "Edward, you—"

Ed rounded on him, slapping Scar's hand away and thrusting a finger in his face. "Don't you leave!" he shouted. "Don't you _ever_ leave your wife and your kids! Don't think for one minute that tearing off after some damn hopeless quest is more important than your family!" His tear-streaked face twisted in anguish and fury. "I swear if you ever do anything like that I'll hunt your ass down!"

Scar would normally have responded in anger to such an outburst. But at this time and in this place, it simply wasn't in him, not even when Ed grabbed a handful of his coat. "Don't you ever—don't you—" He couldn't even get the words out before his rage suddenly abandoned him. He stood staring into Scar's obdurate features for a moment before his grip on the Ishvalan's coat loosened and his hand fell away. He closed his eyes and stumbled back a few steps.

"Oh, God!" he moaned in quiet despair. "I don't—I don't ever wanna to be like him! But I'm afraid that's just what's gonna happen!" Ed pressed a hand to his face and a sob broke through his lips. "Mom always said I was my father's son!"

"Edward!" Scar said gently. "Your father did what he did because he loved you. Did you ever consider that?"

Scar expected another belligerent reaction, but Ed just gazed at him with forlorn misery. Perhaps he had considered it after all. "It still hurt!"

Scar let out a sigh, his breath congealing for an instant before his face. "I'm sure it did. I'm sure it hurt him, too." He thought for a moment, then added, "None of us knows what the future holds, Edward, but hopefully we've learned from our mistakes. This county is in better hands than when it began, and by God's grace none of us will be forced to make a decision like that. Now come along! You need to go home and rest."

Ed held out his arm. "No, no, wait! Wait! I can't go home like this. I don't want Winry to see me like this!"

"Winry is too sensible to be waiting up until dawn when she entrusted you to my care." Scar shrugged a little ruefully. "And if she is waiting up because she's too sensible to fully trust either of us, we'll face her together."

Ed just nodded mutely, a small, wry smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. Then he grew suddenly alarmed as if struck by some new and terrible revelation. His eyes widened with increasing panic, then he stared at Scar. "I'm gonna be sick!"

 _Shehai li Ishvala! This boy is hopeless!_ "Not on your parents' graves, you're not!" Scar pointed toward the gate. "Get out to the road!"

Ed cast about frantically. His decisiveness in maneuvering through the graveyard left him completely and he couldn't seem to remember how to get out. Scar grabbed him by the back of his overcoat, practically frog-marching him toward the exit. They barely got to the edge of the road before Ed doubled over and heaved. Scar kept a grip on his coat so he didn't fall over. As an afterthought, he grabbed Ed's ponytail and moved it out of the way.

It seemed like a lengthy affair, but probably more so to Ed. Scar had been through this more than once and knew that it had to be borne patiently. Only a few months ago, Danika had contracted some sort of stomach ailment and was up most of the night throwing up. Scar attended to her himself, not wanting Rada to contract whatever it was while she was pregnant.

Ed finally managed to empty out everything that had been in his stomach, but he remained bent over, his hands on his knees, for a few more minutes. Finally, he slowly straightened up, drawing the back of his hand across his mouth. He took a few deep breaths and looked morosely at Scar.

"Don't…don't tell Winry!" he pleaded weakly.

Scar couldn't help but give a short, quiet laugh. "I think she knows exactly what she's getting, Fullmetal. But, no, I won't tell her."

"Promise?"

"You have my word."

Ed nodded, satisfied. He backed up and leaned against the top rail of the fence, his shoulders slumped. He might have felt a little better physically, but he seemed no less melancholy. "She knows what she's getting, huh?" he muttered. "Do I even know what to give her?"

Scar began to despair of ever getting back before the sun came up. "You've known each other your whole lives, haven't you? And you're having second thoughts now?"

Ed let out a weak chuckle. "Isn't this when people are supposed to get cold feet? Right before the wedding?"

Scar considered him darkly. "Are you?"

Ed frowned doubtfully but shook his head. "No, it…it's not because I don't want to marry Winry! I do! More than ever! I just…I just hope I'm…y'know…good enough." His voice trailed away and he looked back up at Scar in near desperation. "How do you _know_?"

Scar brought a hand up to rub his forehead. When a man gets woefully drunk, has an emotional breakdown at his father's grave, and then vomits at the side of the road in the middle of the night, how much more humbled could he get than to seek some very tender wisdom from a man he had once scorned as an enemy? Such an honest cry for help deserved an honest answer. He still had to think about it for a moment.

"I didn't think I was good enough for Rada," Scar replied finally. He smiled a little. "She didn't think she was good enough for me. We both had our reasons, but we still had to convince each other that we were wrong. Then Rada, who is wiser than I am, gave me this piece of wisdom. She told me that you only find your true reflection in someone else's eyes. If Winry sees you as worthy, then you'll rise to the challenge."

Edward's eyes widened a little, as though this was something he had never considered. Perhaps he truly never had. A smile finally came to his lips. "Thanks!" he breathed in relief. He wearily dropped his chin to his chest. "Um…sorry I called you boring."

Scar shrugged. "Compared to the way I was when we first met, I suppose I am." He dropped his hand firmly but companionably on Edward's shoulder and steered him away from the fence and back onto the road. "I don't need that kind of excitement anymore."

_____________________________________________________________________________

Al flinched and opened his eyes. He was sure he had heard the clump of a foot on the wooden steps outside. Stretched out beside his chair, Den lifted her head as well, letting out a low growl. Al sat up and reached down to pat her head.

"Easy, girl," he whispered. "Don't go waking everybody up. It's probably just Brother."

Den's tail thumped against the floor and she scrambled to her feet, her toenails clicking against the wood floor and her automail leg clinking softly. Al pushed himself out of the chair he had fallen asleep in and rose stiffly, blinking from the light of the small lamp on the table beside it. He went to the front door and opened it. Sure enough, there they were, trudging up the steps. Brother could barely lift his feet, but Scar had one arm firmly around his shoulders. Al quickly moved to his other side to lend him support.

Ed gave a weak laugh. "I'm not that crippled, Al," he murmured.

Al caught a whiff of alcohol and a few other things besides. He wrinkled his nose. "I dunno about that, Brother."

"Nothing a good night's sleep won't mend," Scar said. "What's left of it, anyway." He looked over Ed's head at Al. "Did the emperor make it back?"

"Uh-huh." Al grinned. "About half an hour ago. He was totally passed out. I think Lan Fan had to carry him back the whole way."

"Well, she is a warrior."

"She also took a short cut," Al mentioned.

"I wish we had. Is Winry still up?"

"No. She wanted to wait, but I told her I would," Al replied as they led Edward through the door. Al reached behind him to close it. "She was exhausted."

"And sensible!" Ed slurred. "Don't forget sensible!"

Al gave Scar a curious look but the Ishvalan just smiled a little and shook his head. "Can you get him to bed all right?"

"Sure. What about the others? Did they leave with you?"

Scar paused for a moment. He had completely forgotten about them. "No. For all I know, they're still at the tavern."

Al chuckled softly as they nearly dragged Ed toward the hallway where his room was. "I hope they're quiet when they get in."

_____________________________________________________________________________

It was an oddly assorted quartet that made its way along the road a few hours later. Three men and a woman. Two Amestrians and two Ishvalans. But it made no difference. They were united by virtue of extreme inebriation. The others had gone to their respective hotels some time ago, but these four stalwarts were more determined. If Bron hadn't had them forcibly ejected from The Laughing Ram, they would probably still be there. But as it was, they wove their way down a perfectly straight road, their arms across each other's shoulders, which would either prop each other up or send them all crashing into a ditch, still linked together.

They sang as they moved along. They pledged their undying loyalty to each other. They would each gladly take a bullet in the neck, a dagger between the ribs, an arrow to the knee, or a swift kick by a mule in the backside for any of the others, such was the regard in which they held each other at that moment. Come morning, they might curse their own and each other's existence and plead for a swift death with their heads hanging in the toilet. But for now, they could take on anything the world was likely to hand out, because they were invincible.


	8. Chapter 8

A shriek of shock and outrage broke through the soft winter morning. A few moments later, a door in the upstairs hallway was flung open, and Vesya, clad only in a nightgown, clutching her infant son in her arms, came scurrying out of her bedroom. She turned and stared through the doorway into the darkened room beyond. Attar whimpered, having been snatched abruptly from the basket in which he had been sleeping, and she tried distractedly to soothe him.

She gave a little startled squeak and spun around as the door across the hall, directly behind her, swung open. Miles stepped out, wearing only the loose Ishvalan trousers he had on the night before, his hair untied and falling loosely around his face and the whites of his eyes so bloodshot that they nearly matched his irises. He froze and stared at his wife for several moments while she glared indignantly back at him. He suddenly spun around to look back through the door he had just stepped through, then he turned and stared back at Vesya again. He did this a few more times in a state of utter bewilderment, but somehow his confusion only grew.

After a few moments of this, Riza stepped sedately out of the room, holding Christina. She had taken the time to put a robe on over her pajamas, which was more than could be said for the final member of this group. Clutching only a pale pink chenille bedspread around his hips, Roy stumbled out of the room that Vesya had just hastily exited.

Miles stared at the scene before him and realization finally set in, along with a vast nausea and a blinding headache.

"Uh…" was all he could manage to utter.

"Vesya," Riza said with the patronizing calm of the morally superior. "How about you grab a robe and come downstairs with me? Let's just leave them to it."

Vesya drew herself up and turned to go back into her room. Roy was still standing in the doorway, still having a little trouble comprehending.

"Excuse me," Vesya said to him in a chilly voice.

"Huh? Oh…uh…" Roy somehow knew instinctively that going back into the room was probably not a good idea. He decided the best course was to edge out into the hall. Vesya slipped through the door as soon as it was clear and reemerged a moment later with one arm through the sleeve of her robe and Attar nestled against her other shoulder. The rest of her robe trailed behind her.

Since Miles' reaction time was severely impaired, Riza caught up the other sleeve of Vesya's robe. "Let me help you with that."

"Thank you, Riza," Vesya replied, pointedly ignoring the men.

"By the way," Riza said as she pulled Vesya's robe up over her shoulder. "What does _de vresho tayeh_ mean?"

Vesya had shifted Attar to her other shoulder and was in the middle of slipping her arm through her sleeve when she stiffened and froze. She stared at Riza for a moment, then cleared her throat. Very quietly, she replied, "It…it means…you smell nice."

"Does it?" Riza gave a little nod and turned to Miles, giving him a cool look. "Thank you, Colonel."

Vesya spared both men a final look full of grave disappointment before heading for the stairs.

Riza turned to follow her, giving Roy a parting glance. "You might want to put some pants on. Nobody's going to take you seriously like that."

The two women took their children downstairs and the hall became very quiet. The men stood in silence for several moments, at first avoiding the other's gaze. Then they cautiously exchanged a look that hovered somewhere between commiseration and suspicion. Finally, Roy hiked his chenille wrap a little higher on his hips.

"Well…that happened," he remarked.

Miles gave a snort of disgust. "Like hell it did!" He turned abruptly and started heading back into the room he had emerged from.

"Hey, Colonel!" Roy called after him.

Miles turned in the doorway. "What?"

"That's my room." Roy pointed his thumb back over his shoulder. " _This_ is your room."

Miles glowered at the opposite doorway. "Seems so obvious now."

"Yeah."

They crossed the hallway to their respective rooms. "Pink's not your color, Brigadier," Miles commented.

Roy took a tighter hold of the bedspread as he trudged through the doorway. "Then you can just pry it out of my cold, dead fingers," he replied, shutting the door behind him.

_________________________________________________________________________

Shua closed the door quietly and sauntered back to bed, slipping under the covers and laughing to himself.

"So what was that all about?" came a muffled, subdued voice beside him.

Shua put his hands behind his head and chuckled unsympathetically. "Seems our gallant officer boys got their rooms switched last night, oh dear!"

Olivier lifted her tousled head. "Are you—ow—serious?" She slowly lowered her head back down and groaned quietly. "I'd be laughing my ass off, except my head would fall off first."

"Is my little snow bunny feeling a little the worse for wear?" Shua rolled closer to her and pushed some hair out of the way until he found her cheek. He kissed it. "Don't worry. We'll all laugh about it later. Long and loud."

"Poor Miles."

"Oh, they'll get over it," Shua said. He gathered Olivier into his arms and nuzzled her neck, to which she objected only feebly. "At least I woke up with the right drunken slut."

_________________________________________________________________________

Scar carried a cup of hot coffee toward the room where he and Alphonse had deposited Ed the night before. This wasn't something he really wanted to be bothered with, but he felt it was his duty to finish what he had started. He had, after all, promised Winry that Edward would be fit to stand beside her on their wedding day. By extension, this was part of the obligation he owed Pinako, so he really had no choice.

He came to the door and tapped at it. For all he knew, Edward could be awake and ready to face the day. There was no reply to the knock, which came as no surprise. Scar opened the door and stepped into the room, which was more like something between a small storeroom and a study with a low bed pushed against the wall as an afterthought. In this bed Edward sprawled, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed and trailing on the floor. The blanket was in a tangle, as though he had spent a restless night.

As Scar debated with himself just how suddenly he should try to wake the young man, he heard a shuffling step behind him.

"Aw, I thought I smelled coffee!" Roy groaned as he entered the room, holding out his hand.

Scar held the cup away. "This is supposed to be for Edward."

Roy impatiently beckoned with his hand. "I need it a lot more than he does and I don't dare go in the kitchen."

Scar gave a quiet snort and handed him the cup. "Coward."

Roy took a couple of gulps of coffee. "Normally I wouldn't take being called that. You're lucky I'm not a hundred percent right now."

"I'd say you've fallen into negative figures," Scar agreed.

Roy sighed heavily. "Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."

Scar gave a wry smirk. "I think she may forgive you."

"Which one? Riza or Vesya?"

"Either. Of course, if this had been Ishval, your life could have been cheap at twice the price."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time. So when does this shindig start?"

"Eleven."

The two looked down at Ed for a few more moments in silence until Roy spoke again. "He was eleven when I first set eyes on him. I was supposed to be searching for some alchemical genius and I found a puny little kid with only one arm and one leg, slumping in a wheelchair. Damn, was he a mess!" Roy shook his head. "He had just about given up on life until I lit that fire under him. The rest, I guess you'd say, is history."

Scar contemplated the sleeping form. History had certainly been set on an inexorable course that day, and he supposed that Mustang had, in fact, done the boy a good turn. But as a result, he had seen things and done things that a normal youth should never have been forced to see and do. In sleep, however, his face was untroubled, innocent, and boyish. That was, perhaps, a child's saving grace. No matter how much of a little demon Mattas was becoming, once he was asleep it was easy to overlook the mischief he had gotten into.

Edward, of course, had a longer lifetime of mischief to his credit, but he managed to make others care about him. Scar could even admit to as much about himself, so they had that much in common, although he was fairly certain that he looked neither innocent nor childlike when he was asleep.

"So shall we wake him up to face matrimony," Roy said, "or smother him with his pillow?"

Scar reached down to grasp Ed's shoulder, giving it a firm shake. "Wake up, Edward Elric!" he called out. "It's time to face your destiny!"

Ed cried out and thrashed his limbs for a moment before lying flat on his back, breathing hard. He stared around in panic until his eyes fell upon the two men standing over him.

"What the—what're you—" He grimaced and squinted at them. "What…what…uh…time is it?"

"It's almost nine," Scar answered.

Ed struggled to a sitting position, untangling his legs from the blanket to get his feet on the floor. He shoved his fingers through his hair and scratched the top of his head, still a bit disoriented.

"Do you need a bucket?" Roy asked.

"Huh?" Ed scowled at him, then shook his head. "Uh…no…I kind of already took care of that."

"So you do remember last night," Scar remarked.

Ed leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the heels of his hands. "Pretty much. Um…thanks for getting me out of there…and…y'know…for the other stuff," he added in a mumble.

"Oh, that's just great!" Roy flung a hand toward Ed. "You never thanked me! I'm the one who threw that party for you!"

Ed gave a weary chuckle. "It's not like I didn't appreciate it. It was just a little too much party for me."

"Huh! I don't think I've ever heard you sound this humble, Fullmetal."

"Great. Enjoy it while you can," Ed muttered back.

Scar took the cup of coffee away from Roy. "You're doing no good in here," he said tersely before the brigadier could object. He pointed toward the door. "Be a man and go apologize to your wife."

Roy sneered ungraciously and left the room grumbling. Scar turned back to Ed and handed him the coffee. "Here. You need to collect yourself and get ready. You're old enough to keep yourself on task without me having to do it for you."

Ed took the cup and downed a few swallows. He held it between his hands and frowned down at it for a few moments. "I'd say you sounded like my dad, except he didn't hang around long enough to tell me stuff like that." For a moment he sounded bitter, but then he gave a slight lift to his shoulders. "But I guess it's more like he just never got the chance." He raised his head to contemplate Scar with a quizzical look. "What was your dad like?"

After a moment of surprise, Scar shook his head impatiently. "You don't have time for this."

"What?" Ed shrugged. "I have to take a bath and put on a suit. Forty-five minutes, tops!"

" _I_ don't have time for this."

"Aw, come on, Scar! Sorry!" Ed raised his hand. "Sorry. I mean, Andakar. Seriously, tell me about him."

Scar had a sharp retort about not wasting time poised and ready, but he paused, bringing his fingers up to the gold talismans hanging at this throat. "My father?" he mused thoughtfully. He looked back down at Edward, whose interest seemed sincere and not just a means to procrastinate. "He was a good man and I loved him deeply, but he was not without his flaws."

"Well, you can say that about most people," Ed reasoned.

"He was the chieftain of Kanda," Scar went on, "a devout and learned man, a devoted husband, and a good father. He was proud of his family and, perhaps even more so, and to a stubborn fault, his family name. He liked to be thought of as a man of the people, but when his younger sister went against his express wishes and married a poor man of no background, he disowned her. He never spoke to her or about her again."

"Seriously?" Edward was genuinely indignant. "That's not right!"

"That's what we thought, but he was the head of the family and we simply didn't argue with him. I would like to think that privately, he regretted what he did and that someday he and his sister would be reconciled." Scar met Ed's golden eyes. "He never got the chance."

Edward gazed back at him solemnly, then he nodded. "Regret's a bitch, isn't it?"

Scar gave a brief, quiet laugh that stopped just short of being bitter. "Yes, it is." He jerked his chin at Ed. "And if you don't want to suffer more of it, you'd better start getting ready."

"Yeah, yeah!" Ed stood up and stretched. "I'll be ready in plenty of time. Tell Winry not to get her panties in a bundle."

With a snort of disgust, Scar turned abruptly and headed for the door. "I will not!"

The telephone on the wall in the foyer began to ring and as Scar moved toward the stairs, he nearly collided with Winry, who had come bounding down the stairs.

"I'll get it!" she cried. She ran to the telephone and snatched up the ear piece. "Hello?" she called into the mouthpiece, a little louder than she probably needed to. "Yes! Yes, this is Winry…oh…oh, yes, Mrs. Arliss, how are—" Winry fell silent as she listened, and her expression suddenly grew horrified. "Oh, you're _kidding_!...Oh, that's terrible! Now what am I—oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Arliss!" she said quickly. "I didn't mean—I hope you're not hurt too badly!...Oh, that's awful! Oh, I'm so sorry!...no I understand…no…no, really, it's all right, I'll figure something out…no, you just take care of yourself…Yes…thank you for calling…bye!"

Winry hung the earpiece back on the hook and banged her head against the wooden case of the telephone. Scar had remained at the foot of the stairs, debating whether he should offer any assistance, but Pinako came bustling out of the kitchen in time to catch the last of the call.

"What is it, Winry?" she asked with a weary tone.

Winry threw her hands in the air. "Mrs. Arliss sliced her hand open making her stupid husband breakfast this morning and she's on her way to the doctor to get it stitched up and she can't play the piano! I've got no music to walk in with!"

This wasn't something Scar figured he could help with and he moved to continue his way upstairs. He nearly collided with Shua, who swerved deftly to one side.

"I don't believe what I just heard!" he exclaimed, hopping down the last few steps. "What do you mean, you've got no music? My auntie's goat, you don't!" He went over to Winry and patted her on the head, then he stepped up to the telephone and lifted the earpiece, pressing it to his ear. He frowned.

"You have to turn the crank to signal the operator," Pinako told him. She shrugged. "We're old-fashioned here."

"Oh! Got it! It's one of those!" Shua gave the magneto a few sharp cranks, then listened. "…Yes! Yes, could you connect me with the…oh, what's it called…the Ram's Bladder? No, sorry! The Golden Fleece Hotel. Yes, thanks, love." He turned to a fretful and bewildered Winry and gave her a wink. "Not to worry, my girl. I'll have you sorted in a minute." He looked back at the telephone for a few more moments, then spoke into the mouthpiece. "Yes, I'm trying to get hold of a guest there. Dejan Shua. You can't miss him. Ishvalan. Tall, thin fellow with a great long braid down his back. That's fine, I'll wait."

As Shua stood humming to himself, Scar figured the situation was well under control and turned to resume his trip upstairs, only to come face to face with Olivier as she came stumping heavily down in pajamas and a robe, the tie of which dragged along behind her. She gave her husband an affectionately morose look.

"You know," she grumbled to Scar, "he fools everybody by making them think he's drinking as much as they are, but he's not. I thought I knew a thing or two about covert ops, but he gives new meaning to the word crafty." She jerked her thumb behind her. "Your wife needs you upstairs to help out getting your brood ready. And if you're looking to take a bath, Miles is hogging it up right now."

"There's another bathroom downstairs at the end of the hall," Pinako informed them, then added with a little smirk, "Plus there's a tin tub by the pump out back."

"That'll do for me. I'm not shy," Shua said, grinning up at Olivier as she let out a laugh. He turned quickly to the telephone. "Nai? Where's that son of mine?...Oh, is he? Well, tell him to get a move on. We've got a wedding to play at."

Winry gave a startled jump. "Oh, I can't ask you to—"

Shua flapped his hand at her. "Shush! No, not you, Nai," he said into the mouthpiece. He looked back at Winry. "You need musicians, don't you?"

"Well, yes, but Spirit of Ishval?" Winry wrung her hands. "They're a big, professional group! I can't just—"

Shua smiled indulgently. "Look, little girl, Dejan grew up playing in a brothel. He's not too proud, believe me. Besides, he's my son. He'll do what I tell him." He turned back to the telephone. "Sorry, Naisha…of course I'll join in! Just try to stop me…whatever you usually play will be fine…right…thanks, _laleh_! You're a darling girl! See you over there."

Shua hung up the earpiece and leaned toward Winry, tapping a finger to his cheek. "There. Give me a kiss and tell me I'm wonderful!"

Winry giggled and kissed him on the cheek and gave him a hug as well. "You are wonderful!"

Shua gave a satisfied chuckle and rubbed his hands together. "Right. Now where's this tin tub?"

Scar shook his head and headed upstairs. Everyone down here was definitely on their own now.


	9. Chapter 9

Clad in his best Ishvalan formal clothes, Scar stood in the vestibule of Shearman's Hall, a large building by Resemboolian standards. It was where the local sheepherders held their meetings, banquets, awards ceremonies, and the stage at the top of the hall was often used for amateur theatrical productions. The hall was also rented out for functions like today's ceremony. The walls of the vestibule were lined with photographs of prize-winning sheep, prize-winning shepherds, and huge prize-winning mounds of wool. On one wall was a list of rules of conduct in the hall, which included warnings against spitting and fistfights. These in themselves were not forbidden as such, merely relegated to outside the hall so the floor wouldn't get damaged.

Winry was currently sitting in a room just off the vestibule along with May, her bridesmaid. Edward was presumably somewhere else in the building with Alphonse. They had arrived in separate carts because for some reason, it was bad luck for the bridegroom to see the bride in her gown until she came up the aisle. On the way over, Winry, who was becoming a bundle of frayed nerves, had given Scar a brief, somewhat jumbled list of instructions as to what was expected of him as acting father of the bride. It seemed simple enough. May would walk up first, then he would escort Winry down the aisle and up to the front of the hall. He would then hand her over to Edward, who would be waiting beside the justice of the peace, and his duty would be complete.

There was a low hum of soft voices coming from inside the hall, as well as music. Dejan's ensemble had been joined by a small group of musicians that Ling had brought with him. The young emperor had arrived ostentatiously on camelback, his retinue in tow. Shua was well acquainted with each of them from his time at the Xingese court, and he invited them to share the stage. It made an exotic combination. Up in the front row, Rada sat with the children and Ling insisted on sitting with them, once again claiming their shared nobility. Scar had warned Rada about not letting the young emperor get too familiar with Danika. She assured him that although Ling was a nice young man, she would most definitely have none of that, not for all the tea in Xing.

Riza and Vesya entered the vestibule, their husbands several paces behind them, still looking a little subdued, either from lingering hangovers or from chagrin. Probably both. The men were carrying their children as well as their diaper bags, which either added to or detracted from the splendor of their dress uniforms, depending on how you looked at it.

The Knoxes arrived, explaining that their son would have come as well, but he was busy getting ready for his next term at medical school. Dr. Knox reported that Anthony was considering seeking a position with Marcoh at the hospital in Ishval once he finished school.

Other people arrived, singly or in groups, many of them giving Scar a quick curious glance as they crossed through the vestibule and into the hall. There was a slender, dark-haired woman accompanied by a large, bearded man, much larger than the woman. She gave Scar a cool look as she passed by, but smiled nonetheless. A pretty, dusky-skinned girl and a dark-haired, middle-aged man hurried through the vestibule, whispering excitedly to each other and barely even noticed Scar. A woman arrived holding the hand of a small girl with wide green eyes. They invariably had either Winry or Edward's names on their lips. Once inside, Havoc and Breda showed them to their seats.

Then a young woman arrived by herself. She had a slight air of uncertainty about her as though she was not used to traveling, even to a small town like Resembool. She had large, deep violet eyes and hair that was long and dark except for what framed her face, which was pink. Scar was sure he had seen her before; that hair color was hard to forget. As she stepped past him, she paused, apparently recognizing him as well.

Then Scar recalled that it was during his brief stop in Liore with Marcoh, when they came to meet with Jerso and Zampano. They had gotten something to eat at a food stall and this girl was the one who had served them. He had been so consumed by their desperate mission and by his own dark thoughts that the pleasant smile she had given him was almost startling. If she recognized him from his wanted posters she gave no indication. She simply treated him as she would anyone else.

Perhaps she recalled the incident herself, because her smile broadened a little and she gave him a nod, which he returned. Then she passed on into the hall, where Havoc showed her to a seat. A moment later, Havoc returned and poked his head through the door. "It's just about showtime!" he whispered.

Scar opened the door of the room where Winry was waiting. It was a small anteroom with a worn chintz sofa and a couple of mismatched chairs. A vase with faded silk flowers sat on a small side table. Winry sat stiffly in one of the chairs, her hands clutched in her lap. Yards of white silk flowed down from her lap and over her feet. Her hair was pinned up with little curling tendrils hanging around her face, and a cascade of white tulle fell from a small cap pinned securely to the top of her head. She looked almost as pale as her dress.

May, looking very much like the princess she was, wore layers of embroidered silk in gold, sky blue, and white, and her hair was pinned up in braids and decorated with flowers. She seemed much more composed, but both girls gave a little start when the door opened.

"Is it time?" Winry gasped, staring up at Scar.

Scar couldn't help but smile. "There seems to be very little that you need to actually do. Why are you so nervous?"

"What if I trip and fall on my face?" Winry demanded. "What if my dress falls apart?"

"If you trip, I'll catch you," Scar assured her. "And Rada fixed your dress, so it won't dare fall apart."

May patted her arm. "You'll do fine!" The diminutive Xingese girl stood and picked up two bouquets of flowers, one of all white roses and the other a mixture of blue and yellow carnations. Winry took the white bouquet and stood slowly, arranging her skirts and trying to figure out exactly where her feet were under them. Scar held the door open for them and they went out into the vestibule.

Havoc stood waiting for them and he grinned broadly. "Aw, you girls look like a million cenz!"

"Thank you!" Winry replied distractedly.

"Okay, so, Miss May," Havoc went on. "As soon as you hear the girls start singing, start walking!"

May nodded and moved to the inside of the doorway. Up near the front of the hall, Shua had borrowed a Xingese erhu and had joined Ling's musicians for a quick tune. Standing next to Scar, Winry sucked in a quick gasp.

"How do I know which song to walk in with?" she hissed. "I don't know what they're playing. I won't know which one!"

"I'll know," Scar told her

The instruments stopped and there were a few moments of silence. Then the girls started singing. Scar recognized it as a variation on the type of song that girls would entertain themselves with while working together, either sewing or embroidering or cooking or other domestic task. They'd been doing it for generations, and the songs were simple and light-hearted, even through times when life was neither simple nor light-hearted. Dejan, of course, had elaborated on it, making the harmonies richer as the girls sang of a young maiden out gathering flowers.

"Go on, May," Scar said in a low voice.

May gave a nod and started forward. The hall was not that long, and at a steady, moderate pace, she made it up to the front in slightly over a minute. There was the sound of rustling and the creaking of wooden seats as the guests turned to watch the Xingese girl walk past.

The chorus came to a final chord and paused before beginning the next song. Scar was about to lay his hand on Winry's shoulder, which was the Ishvalan custom, but she quickly linked her arm through his elbow and held onto it for dear life. The girls began to sing again, starting with the lower voices. It began almost like a temple chant, rising slowly, with higher voices joining it in polyphonal harmony. Dejan often had his girls perform this song at weddings. Scar moved forward after the first few notes, and Winry took a few steps along with him, then suddenly gasped. She let go of his arm and scampered quickly behind him to switch from his left side to his right. Letting out a sigh of relief, she let him continue.

They started down the aisle and everyone turned to watch the bride make her entrance. Eyes follows, fingers pointed, heads leaned together, and excited whispers rose from their numbers. Scar seemed to be making almost as much of an impression as Winry was, although for good or bad he couldn't tell. They'd gone a third of the way when he heard a tiny hiccup of a suppressed sob. He glanced down out of the corner of his eye to see Winry blinking rapidly to keep back the tears that were threatening to spill.

He didn't think that she was struck with a sudden change of heart about her impending vows. She might have been swept up in a wave of sentiment. But it was more likely that she was feeling the painful absence of the two people whom she would have wanted here above all others. He could lend her his arm, keep her husband-to-be sober (mostly), offer her a home and a haven if all others were lost to her, but that was one deficiency he could never make up for. The best he could do to convey this to her was to press his hand comfortingly over hers, and he felt her fingers tighten in the crook of his elbow.

As they neared the front, Winry all but forgot her tears. Standing by the justice of the peace, Edward cut a very fine figure in a black cutaway coat, a high collared white shirt with a grey silk tie, a dark grey waistcoat and grey pinstriped trousers. Even Scar was impressed. Alphonse was dressed in similar fashion except with a lighter grey waistcoat and trousers. He seemed very much at ease, which was a bit than could be said for his brother.

As soon as Ed saw Winry, however, his golden eyes widened and whatever doubts or second thoughts he might have been harboring or nervousness he was suffering fell away completely. A smile grew on his face, one that Winry returned. Scar relinquished Winry's hand with greater confidence that he had felt since he arrived. Before she turned away she looked up at him with tear-free eyes and whispered "Thank you!"

As one last gesture in his role as a stand-in, Scar whispered back a father's words. He hoped Urey Rockbell wouldn't mind the liberty. " _Saa, dyeva Ishvala shavai_!" Go, daughter, blessed of Ishvala.

As Winry and Edward turned to face the justice of the peace, a small man with fluffy white hair around his ears and benevolent brown eyes, Scar turned to the seat Rada was saving for him. Mattas and Little Winry were sharing it at the moment, miraculously not squirming off of it. Scar scooped them up and settled them on his lap as he sat down.

Ling, who occupied the next seat, leaned closer to him. "Good job!" he whispered.

Scar just nodded in reply. He hoped he could manage to walk the length of a room in a straight line without bringing dishonor to his household. He sat back, feeling much more relaxed now that his part was finished. With one arm keeping the twins secure, he took Rada's hand and watched the proceedings. It seemed a little bland and sterile compared to an Ishvalan ceremony, but most of the basic elements were the same.

Scar was serious about marriage. Marriage meant continuity and stability. It was a unique bond between two sometimes disparate people based on love and trust. He knew that ideal situations often didn't exist, but he himself was utterly content. He made it a point to ensure that Rada was, too. He could only hope that Edward and Winry would do the same for each other.

After the JP gave the young couple a few mildly amusing but presumably sincere admonitions about married life, he had them exchange a set of rather businesslike vows. They then exchanged rings that had been carried by May and Alphonse.

"By the power invested in my by the town of Resembool in the county of Mardigan," the JP concluded, "I now pronounce you husband and wife, and may I be the first to introduce you as Mr. and Mrs. Edward Elric!"

The newlyweds turned to each other and, after a couple of preliminary giggles, Edward took Winry's hands in his, pulled her close and kissed her. The hall erupted in applause and cheers, along with howls from most of the Ishvalans. Winry and Edward faced them, beaming happily. They then glanced at each other, apparently wondering what was supposed to happen next. The applause died down a little, and the JP spoke up again.

"Excuse me…yes…thank you…ahem…I believe that there is one more…uh…formality to observe," he announced.

Winry and Ed looked at each other blankly. The guests grew quiet in anticipation, and the JP turned to look up at the stage as Dejan stepped forward. He waved to the guests. "Hello! As Mr. Turley has just explained, we're not quite done yet. This is an old custom from Ishval, one that's performed at every wedding, and as far as we're concerned, a couple isn't properly married till it's been done. So, Edward!" The lanky Ishvalan grinned down at the perplexed young man. "It's very simple. All you have to do is get your lovely bride perched up on your shoulder and walk around a bit with her while we menfolk sing a little tune. It's supposed to show how well you can support a wife, you see."

There was a ripple of laughter and eager applause from the congregation, leaving Edward with no choice but to comply. Before sharing an uncertain look with Winry, he glanced suspiciously over at Scar, as though considering him the prime instigator. Scar just gave him an innocent shrug. He hadn't actually expected this, but it pleased him. He passed the twins over to Rada and rose to his feet, as did Miles and Havoc, who knew the song well by now. They moved to gather near the newlyweds as Dejan, Shua, Damyan, and the other young men from the ensemble stepped down from the stage and joined them.

Edward watched them, his trepidation growing. He looked at Dejan.

"What if I drop her?"

Dejan just laughed. "Don't."

Shua stepped up beside his son, looping the strap of an hourglass-shaped drum over his shoulder and playing a few sharp taps on its head. "Come on, Edward! Show us what you're made of!"

Edward turned back to Winry with a slightly apologetic look and a little shrug, then he lowered himself to one knee. With a small frown that showed she was not inspired with confidence, Winry carefully perched herself on his shoulder. Edward held her as securely in place as he could and slowly straightened up, accompanied by Shua rolling a deep trill on his drum. While Winry tried not to grimace in terror, Ed managed to raise himself to his full height. The congregation applauded, and Dejan and Shua launched into the first notes of a boisterous song. The rest of the men joined in, clapping along with the rhythm of Shua's drum playing.

Edward slowly stepped forward and Winry kept a frozen smile on her lips. Alphonse and May stared at each other for a moment, then quickly linked arms and followed them. Dejan and Shua fell in behind them along with the rest of the singers. The congregation was delighted. They traversed the length of the hall, and when they reach the door that led to the vestibule, the singing hadn't stopped. Winry stared at the red exit sign with dread, finally letting out a little squeak.

" _Ed!_ "

"On it!" Ed dipped down smoothly and Winry's head cleared the doorway. He repeated the same motion to step out the front door and down the steps. Taking their cue from this procession, the guests filed out behind them, gathering on the steps and clapping along with the music. Some passersby paused to watch. This was not a normal occurrence in this town.

Winry tried to look behind her. "How—how long do we do this?" she gasped.

Dejan nodded to Shua, who struck a decisive ending beat on the head of his drum. "That ought to do," Dejan said.

Ed carefully lowered himself down and Winry slid off his shoulder. She steadied herself on her feet with a game smile, acknowledging the applause of the crowd gathered on the hall steps. Out of this crowd stepped Bron Daveys, who, among other things, was catering the luncheon afterwards. He went up to the newlyweds, shaking Edward's hand and giving Winry a kiss on the cheek.

"Nicely done, you two," he told them.

"Are you taking over now, Mr. Daveys?" Winry asked hopefully.

"Right you are, Miss—oops!" Bron gave a grin. "Sorry, Mrs. Elric!" He turned to the crowd and addressed them in a booming authoritative voice. "Ladies and gentlemen—and you, too, Mustang—while the hall is being rearranged for the wedding feast, please stay where you are while this moment is immortalized."

Bron waved any stragglers back up onto the steps while a brisk young man stepped up with a portrait camera on a tall tripod. He set it up several feet away from the steps and began to adjust the focus. Rada deposited one of the twins into Scar's arms and pulled him in amongst the crowd. He still had a strong dislike for having his picture taken, and he had to consciously settle his features into something other than distaste. Under no earthly circumstances was he going to say "cheese."

While a team of hired hands was transforming the hall into a dining room, the guests milled sociably around the front steps. Scar used this respite to let Mattas run around and blow off a little toddler steam, following him closely all the while. This wasn't an easy task, since Mattas discovered just how much fun it was to ditch his father in a forest of legs. The formerly dreaded Scarred Man spent the next ten minutes apologizing and excusing himself as he squeezed through various groups trying to hunt down his offspring. One of the groups he had to dodge around was the Mustangs and the Mileses, who seemed to be in much better spirits. Perhaps the wedding had made Riza and Vesya sentimental and forgiving.

Scar finally caught up with Matttas as the toddler bumped into the calves of the pink-haired girl from Liore. Mattas fell on his behind and gazed up at her as she turned around and looked down. While he was thus entranced, Scar was able to catch up and apprehend him.

The girl smiled at father and son. "What a little cutie!" she remarked. "How old is he?"

"He's fifteen months old," Scar replied. "He has a twin sister around here somewhere."

The girl's eyes widened a little. "Really? Well, I can see they must be a handful!" She turned her eyes to Scar. "I didn't realize you knew Ed and Winry so well."

"We have…history," Scar replied. He studied the girl's face. He recalled from that day in Liore that a smile like hers was worth the trouble to save simply for its own sake. "May I ask your name?"

"It's Rose. Rose Thomas," the girl replied with the same smile, which grew a little. "And you're the governor of Ishval! I saw that story in the paper. You must be awfully proud!"

Scar shook his head. "Not of myself. Of my people, most certainly!"

"Oh, of course!" Rose said quickly. "That's what I meant! It's a good feeling, isn't it, to rebuild and get back on your feet?"

Scar remembered how there was a massive amount of construction going on when they stopped in Liore. Although he had only been half listening, Marcoh had told him of the terrible riots that had occurred there that destroyed so much of the city. It had been part of the evil perpetrated on innocent lives by that nest of homunculus vipers.

"Yes," Scar replied. "It is a good feeling. Has your city recovered?"

"Pretty much," Rose said. "There are a few scars here and there, but it looks better than ever."

Scar nodded. "The same could be said about Ishval. The scars make us appreciate what we nearly lost."

"That's so true!" Rose gave him another smile, this one shy and wistful. "I'd like to see Ishval someday. It must be beautiful."

"I think so," Scar said. "But I have a certain bias."

Freed from the photographer's clutches, Winry came running up with a squeal to throw her arms around Rose. "I'm so glad you came!"

Rose hugged her tightly. "I'm so happy for you!"

"Come on! Ed needs to see you!" Winry gave a quick glance over her shoulder at Scar. "I'm stealing her!"

Rose waved as Winry pulled her away. "It was nice talking to you!"

"Oh, my, who was that lovely young thing?" Rada came up beside Scar, holding Little Winry on her hip.

"Rose from Liore," Scar told her, putting his free arm around her. "And you are just as lovely a young thing, my best beloved."

Bron Daveys mounted the steps of the hall and announced that lunch would be served shortly and that they could reenter. He had been hired to act as the master of ceremonies apparently because he had a loud, carrying voice and he was good at making people do things. Everyone filed back into the hall behind Ed and Winry. Inside, the hall was filled with round tables covered in crisp white tablecloths and blue and yellow flowers. Up at the front was a long table, which was reserved for the bridal party. Rather to his surprise, Scar was told that he and his family were meant to sit there. Rada was delighted and he supposed he should feel flattered by the family's regard.

Once everyone was settled, waiters came out armed with bottles of champagne, which they poured into glasses at each table. Bron went up to stand before the head table and tapped a spoon against his glass.

"Right!" he called out. "Front and center, folks! At this time, I'd like to call on the uh…" He looked over his shoulder at Scar with a slight questioning frown, then nodded. "…the father of the bride, as it were, to say a few words!"

Scar stiffened and stared at the man. He then looked over Pinako's head at Winry. The bride made a little grimace and gave a slight shrug, either to indicate that this was a development she was not aware of, or to apologize for not telling him.

Most of the audience reacted with a gentle patter of applause, but from the table where Roy and Miles sat came a raucous noise of palms slamming on the table top and loud calls of "Speech! Speech!"

Rada nudged him. "Go on!" she whispered. "Say something!"

Since there appeared to be no remedy for the situation, Scar rose slowly to his feet. After a moment of renewed applause, the hall fell silent. He gazed out somberly at them, completely at a loss. He could not, however, stand here silent for long. There were at least two things of which he was certain. He would make no more apologies, and he was not going to be funny.


	10. Chapter 10

He was not a stranger to public speaking. He addressed a class of teenagers every day with the understanding that while he spoke, by Ishvala, they had better listen because there _would_ be a test.

"As you are all surely aware," he began carefully, "I am not, in fact, the bride's father. I was given the honor of acting on his behalf. But I am a father. I know the joy and the worry. I know the heightened fear of the wicked world when a child comes into my care because I know how fragile life can be."

Only a very select few in the hall were aware of the exact circumstances making this substitution necessary, and for obvious reasons he couldn't go into too much detail. On the other hand, he felt that omission of the truth was nearly as bad as lying. But as Winry once said to him, that was between the two of them, and that meant keeping a confidence. What he did say would be the absolute truth.

"Urey and Sara Rockbell left their daughter to practice medicine in Ishval. While they were there, they lost their lives helping my people, and to this day, their absence is sorely felt. In front of the hospital in Ishval there stands a monument to their memories. It's very simple, but not too simple to express what it was meant to express. Love and strength."

Scar glanced at the newlyweds, considering what else to say. "I've watched these two grow. Not since childhood, merely over the past several years. I had no idea how closely our lives would intertwine. Between the two of them, they have an abundant measure of love and strength that will grow and serve them well throughout their lives. As I do for my own children, I may sometimes lie awake thinking about what the future will hold for them, but as I do for my own children, it will be not only concern that robs me of my sleep, but wonder."

He nearly sat down, having done what he felt was sufficient, but an expectant silence hung over the hall and as he glanced around, he noticed that the guests were picking up their glasses and holding them up. Apparently he wasn't quite done yet. He picked up the glass of champagne that stood before him, a very slender, fragile thing that he hoped wouldn't snap in his fingers, and he lifted it up.

" _Ishvala nadran ho'avaat!_ May Ishvala grant them many years!" he declared.

The Ishvalans as well as those who had become familiar with Ishvalan customs echoed with the response of _ho'avaat!_ Everyone else simply replied "to the bride and groom" since they were already poised to do so. As soon as the glasses were set down, there was a resounding applause, which Scar was not expecting, certainly not from so many Amestrians. Well, it was a day of surprises, he supposed as he sat down. He just hoped that was the last one.

As the best man, Alphonse stood next and gave a heartfelt and moving speech that he must have put a great deal of thought into, having the advantage of knowing to do so beforehand. He, too, had certain details that he could not divulge, but there was no hiding the love he bore his brother and his new sister-in-law. There were even a few moments where he had to pause to keep his voice from breaking.

"…and I know that however far we might travel from each other, if it's just over the hill or East City or maybe Ishval," he added with a little grin toward Scar, "or as far away as Xing, our bond will never stretch to the point of breaking, and when we come together again, it'll be like we were never apart." He raised his glass. "I give you my brother and sister-in-law, the bride and groom, Ed and Winry!"

"Ed and Winry!"

Lunch, was served, yet more roast lamb. It was a wonder there were any sheep left in Resembool. Since it was nearly impossible to get them to stop once they got going, Dejan, Shua, and the rest of the musicians continued to play, even though a small combo, led by Bron and his accordion, had been hired to play during the reception. Shua managed to organize his son's troupe, Bron's group, and even Ling's court musicians so that they not only played in rotation but together as well, making one of the strangest orchestras on this or any other stage.

Once the dancing started, there was an eclectic mix to choose from. The Ishvalans got everyone on their feet for a line dance that traversed the perimeter of the hall and snaked around the tables. The Xingese yangqin player joined the cimbalom player from Bron's group to play a czardas. Despite her insistence that she would rather eat worms, Shua managed to convince Olivier to dance with him while Bron and his combo played a polka.

A large three-tiered cake was wheeled out and carefully placed on the table in front of Ed and Winry. They were given a large knife with a ribbon tied around it to cut the first slice. Then they each placed a small piece into each other's mouths. A recent trend had started in which either the bride or groom would smash the piece of cake into the other's face, but these two had far too much sense for such a display of poor taste and bad upbringing.

As the reception reached its close, Bron announced that all the unmarried ladies needed to gather outside at the foot of the hall steps for the tossing of the bouquet. Winry stood at the top of the steps with her back to the crowd of girls and threw the bouquet over her head, giving it a pretty high arc. The girls all poised to make a jump for it, and just as May took a leap into the air, so did Paninya. They bounced off of each other, missing the bouquet entirely while it landed into the arms of Mika, who wasn't really sure why they were doing this but didn't want such a lovely arrangement of flowers to fall to the ground.

There were a few good-natured groans of disappointment and some laughing and clapping, and Mika looked around her, feeling rather pleased.

"Um…am I supposed to do something now?" she asked.

"If you caught the bouquet," Paninya explained, "that means you're supposed to be the next girl to get married."

Mika's eyes widened and she stared at the bouquet as though it might bite her. She suddenly thrust it into the hands of a startled May, who tried to hand it back.

"No, you caught it fairly," she said. "You keep it!"

Mika shook her head and gazed at the flowers with a wistful look. "I can't get married yet! I'm not old enough!"

"Neither am I," May replied, "even if my brother doesn't think so. Here!" She loosened the ribbon that was wrapped around the stems of the flowers and she handed half of them to Mika. "We'll share it. Nobody said you had to get married right away."

Mika readily accepted this arrangement with a small smile, breathing in the flowers' fragrance.

Dejan gave his daughter a hug. "We'll have to let Stoyan know about this, eh?"

Mika looked horrified. "No, Dad! You'll scare him! He doesn't even know what you're planning!"

"Well, then, we'll just take this as a good omen," Dejan told her with a wink.

A horse-drawn chaise rolled up in front of the hall. It was decorated with white ribbon bows and had a hand painted sign hanging on the back that said "just married", as if the wedding gown wasn't a giveaway. They would be taken to the nicer of the two hotels in Resembool, the Imperial, which had a honeymoon suite. It was only on the next street over and down a couple of blocks, but the chaise would be taking them all around the town, which would take maybe twenty minutes.

As the couple made their way to the chaise, their guests waved to them, calling out their farewells, congratulations, and wishes for good luck. As they passed by Scar, Winry let go of Ed's hand and darted over to give the Ishvalan a tight hug. Ed followed her and, after a slight hesitation, he met Scar's look and held out his hand.

"Thanks for—"

Scar grasped his hand and pulled him forcibly into his embrace. "Take good care of each other!"

"What did you— _erk!_ — _think_ we were gonna do?" Ed grunted.

There were drawn out sighs of aww from many of the other guests, but Scar didn't think there was anything particularly endearing about it. He had been struck with a sudden moment of alarm about these two young people which, on the one hand, had become a natural reaction for him these days. On the other hand, how could he ever encompass the lives and welfare of all the children who had, in one way or another, come under his care over these past years? It was staggering, but he was still compelled to do so. They would inherit this world, and he had the two-fold responsibility of leaving them a world fit to inherit and to pass on the wisdom they needed to take on the burden.

He let them go, ready as they would ever be to start their new lives together. As the grey horse trotted away with the carriage, the newlyweds waved back, their smiles shining happily either as a harbinger of a bright future or a complete lack of foresight. Scar breathed a quick prayer, committing them to Ishvala's care.

Since dancing in the street was a cherished way of celebrating good fortune amongst Ishvalans, the music started up again, and those guests who were in no hurry to be anywhere else gathered to dance whatever steps appealed to them. Scar remained for a little while longer, watching the chaise advance into the distance and turn a corner.

"Well, that's done!"

Scar turned to see that Roy had joined him. Miles appeared on his other side. "Damn!" the Ishvalan officer grumbled. "We never got to give him the _talk_."

Scar frowned at him slightly and Roy gave Scar a shove against his shoulder. "Because you dragged him off from his own damn stag party before we got the chance."

"Thank Ishvala for that!" Scar remarked. "Considering the state you were in, you could have ruined him for life."

"Well, that's as may be," Roy admitted. "I sincerely hope you took up the slack and did your duty by that boy."

Scar shrugged. "I offered him what wisdom I could, but mainly, I held his hair while he threw up."

Miles nodded sagely. "You did well, red-eyed brother." 

* * *

It had been a long day of traveling, the twins were cranky, and by the time they got home, the little ones were so wound up it took all the coaxing and cuddling their parents could manage to get them to settle down to sleep. Danika dragged herself off to bed and Scar and Rada did the same not long afterwards. It seemed as though he had just dropped off to a long-awaited and well-earned sleep when the telephone rang.

"Oh, dear God, who could that be!" Rada groaned.

"Who's idea was to have a telephone in the house in the first place?" Scar grumbled back.

"Oh, shush! Just go answer it before it wakes up the babies!"

Cursing the telephone company, modern technology, and people who couldn't deal with their own problems at a more reasonable hour, Scar went out into the kitchen where the telephone sat on a small side table. He picked up the receiver.

"Yes?" he growled sharply.

The voice on the other end was slurred just enough to indicate that the speaker was in the sort of merry humor brought on by a certain amount of alcohol. Probably a dusty bottle of Golden Mark whiskey that had been taken from the pantry. She had good reason for such an elevated mood and every right to indulge. Her cherished granddaughter was finally married and in the fairly capable care of someone else. To be sure, she would still worry about them both, but a certain burden had been lifted. And in the tradition of the comfortably tipsy, she thought she was hilarious.

"Ish yer refrigerator runnin'?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a little side story that didn't really belong anywhere by itself. What can I say? I'm embarrassingly attached to my OC's.

Professor Abernathy held out a paper that had a brilliant red 100% written across the top. "Nicely done, Mr. Dimitar, as usual!" he murmured.

The young Ishvalan gave an inclination of his head. "Thank you, sir. Have a good weekend."

"You, too!"

Stoyan tucked the graded exam into his satchel and headed out the door, joining with the other students in the hallway. He attracted much less attention than he did a few months ago when classes started at the University of Central City. Back then, he was openly stared at. Aside from being the only Ishvalan in the entire student body, at twenty-two he was the oldest freshman these ivy-covered walls had seen in a long time. There were some who had whispered that perhaps he was a little backward and had been held back in school. It was pointed out by others that not only was he enrolled in honors classes, but he had probably been forced to put his education on hold while he was exiled from his homeland.

He soon dispelled any other preconceived notions about himself and his people. If he drew attention now, it was usually in admiration. He was at first considered to be exotic, but his simple, solemn courtesy made him much less so. Some of his classmates even began to seek him out for help with their mathematics homework.

But the music department was his favorite haunt. He studied basic theory. He signed up to be in the choir for a Masters student's choral conducting class. He sometimes brought his Ishvalan instruments to play for his teachers. He attended student concerts and recitals whenever he had the chance. He was at school from early morning to late afternoon every day, catching the city bus at the end of the day to head home to the apartment he shared with Shua. When he got home he took private lessons on the violin and piano. He often stayed up late studying or writing papers.

A number of other students took the same bus as he did, and on a drizzly day after the beginning of spring, a couple of young women boarded the bus just behind him as it stopped in front of the university. As they settled in a seat across from Stoyan, one nudged the other then leaned out of her seat a little.

"It's Stoyan, isn't it?" she asked.

Stoyan looked up from his book to find a pair of bold, inquisitive green eyes gazing at him. He didn't recognize her from any of his classes, rather someone who was on the periphery, either in the library or the cafeteria. She was certainly noticeable. She always dressed stylishly and had her black hair cut in a short bob. He gave her a polite nod. "Yes, that's me," he replied.

She thrust out her hand. "Arabella Woodrow!" She gave a nod toward the girl sitting next to her. "This is my chum, Nancy."

Nancy, a quiet, retiring young woman, gave a self-conscious little wave.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both," Stoyan said, shaking her hand.

"Well, gosh!" Arabella remarked matter-of-factly. "What nice manners! I'm telling you, I like to consider myself the modern type, but I don't mind a little old-fashioned courtesy. Men these days! They're simply too full of themselves. Not like you!"

"Oh…well, I suppose was just raised that way."

"Of course you were." Arabella gave a little tilt of her chin toward the violin case that sat Stoyan had across his lap. "So, you're a music major, aren't you?"

Stoyan nodded. "With a mathematics minor."

The girl looked impressed. "You _are_ busy, then!"

"I like to make the best use of my time," Stoyan replied. "I don't want to disappoint anyone back home."

"Oh, I disappoint my folks all the time," Arabella sighed, not sounding in the least bit remorseful. "Particularly since I changed my major to drama." She flashed him a brilliant smile. "I'm thinking of Bella Wood as a stage name. How do you think that would look on a playbill?"

Names were a tender subject to Ishvalans. Unless she was ashamed, Stoyan didn't see the point. "It would save ink, I suppose."

Arabella let out peal of musical laughter. She reached across the aisle and smacked him lightly on the knee. "Oh, you're devastatingly handsome and funny! I like that in a man!"

Stoyan could feel his cheeks mantling. Considering the dark hue of his skin, it was unlikely that Arabella could tell, but he felt as though his face was glowing.

She gave him an admiring look. "Your parents must be terribly proud of you!"

Looking back down at his book Stoyan answered quietly, "I'd like to think they would be, but they died in the war."

The boldness in Arabella's eyes faltered and she drew in a quick gasp and put her hand over her mouth. "Oh! Oh, golly! I'm so sorry!"

Stoyan lifted his shoulders a little. It was something he had come to terms with. "A lot of us lost our families, but we made new ones." He smiled. "Those are the people that I want to make proud of me."

Arabella returned his smile. "Well, it does you credit!" Her bold look came back. "So, tell me, Stoyan, do you have a girl back in Ishval?"

"Uh…" Stoyan wasn't naïve. He knew he was being flirted with. It was flattering, but it didn't feel right. "Sort of," he replied finally.

Arabella gave a light laugh. "Oh, dear! Don't you know?"

Stoyan smiled, mostly to himself. "Oh, I know, all right."

He didn't try to explain it to her. She probably wouldn't understand, being the modern type. He managed to steer the conversation back to school for the remainder of the bus ride, and it was something of a relief when Arabella and her friend got off at their stop. His stop was several blocks onward, and he got off at the corner where Shua's apartment building stood.

Mrs. Bruno, the concierge, gave him a motherly smile as he came through the front entrance. His piano teacher, Mr. Gesell, met him on the stairs with a pat on the back. He reached his apartment just as Gracia Hughes stepped out of hers. She gave him a pleasant smile.

"Oh, good! There you are!"

"Hello, Mrs. Hughes. How was your day?"

"Not bad at all," Gracia replied. "Shua gave me a call a little while ago. He said he'd be going out after today's session, and unless you'd like to join him over at Federico's, he said to not wait up."

Stoyan nodded. If Shua was meeting friends at Federico's, it meant he was in a particularly festive mood and wouldn't be home until well after midnight. "I think I'll stay in tonight."

Gracia made a little smirk with one eyebrow lifted. "Are you sure about that? It's Friday night, after all."

Stoyan smiled. "I'm sure. It's been a long day."

"Well, I just put a chicken pot pie in the oven," Gracia said. "Come on over for dinner."

The aroma coming from the Hughes apartment was very tempting. "Thanks, Mrs. Hughes. I think I will."

"Oh, good! It'll be ready at about quarter to six."

"Right. I'll be over then."

Stoyan turned to the apartment just across the hall. Shua used to live next door to Mrs. Hughes, but when the two bedroom apartment across the way became available, he moved into it in anticipation of Stoyan's arrival. Stoyan unlocked the door and stepped inside. On the floor was that day's mail and he bent down to scoop it up. It all for Shua except for one envelope addressed to him from Ishval, and he smiled.

He put down his violin case and his satchel and sat in one of the wingback chairs in the living room. Opening up the envelope, he pulled out the letter, which looked to be about three pages long.

"… _Naisha's not feeling so bad anymore, and she and Dad are getting really excited about the baby. They've pretty much decided on the name Maya if it's a girl, but they're still trying to figure out a boy's name. Naisha wants Shayur after her father, but Dad keeps saying he wants the name Vashto, who was supposed to be this grotty old tavern keeper he used to know. He's not being serious, of course, and I'm pretty sure that if I get a baby brother, his name will be Shayur_ …"

Stoyan grinned and chuckled a few times as he continued reading the letter. Mika never seemed to run out of things to say, even considering what she could write about but didn't. Except for when she ended her letters with Love, Mika, she never talked about love. But really, she didn't have to. Whether she meant to or not, it came shining though in her simple, funny, touching stories. She filled her letters with every little detail about what was going on in Ishval because she knew he would be homesick. It was the best thing she could do for him.

As much as Shua or Dejan liked to think so, it was not a secret. If he mentioned it, they would deny it hotly. No arrangement or agreement had been made. He would not be held to it. But someday, at least six or seven years from now, it was desperately hoped by a number of people that he would make Mika his bride.

Anyone else might have felt resentful or trapped or angry. But he didn't. It wasn't even out of gratitude or a burden of obligation to Dejan. He liked Mika. He'd cared for her ever since that terror-filled night when they had to flee Ishval under the noses of the Amestrian military. Dejan shoved his three-year-old daughter into Stoyan's arms while he helped one of the girls to her feet when she had fallen. Mika had wrapped her little arms around his neck and held on tight. She didn't cry or even make a sound. Despite how scared he was, it felt good to have someone trust him like that. That trust had never faded and the bond that formed never broke.

Yes, he had lost his head for a little while over Winry Rockbell, something that he looked back on with embarrassment and regret. He acted like an idiot and he must have hurt Mika's feelings. He would make it up to her. When she came of age, he would go home and marry her, but in the meantime they would be best friends. It was a comforting thought. Someone like Arabella Woodrow might not understand, but he and Mika understood, and that was all that really mattered.


End file.
